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(Jnglbl)  Mtn  of  €tittxB 

EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/bunyanfroudeOOfrouiala 


JOHN  BUNYAN 


Bunipan 


by 
JAMES    ANTHONY    FROUDE,   LL.D. 

AUTHOR  OF 

"  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND  FROM  THE  FALL  OF 

WOLSEY  TO  THE  DEFEAT  OF  THE 

SPANISH  ARMADA"  ETC. 


Englisb  /iDen  of  Xetters 

EDITED  BY 

JOHN   MORLEY 


HARPER   &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 
1902 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGK 

BABLT  LIFE •«..       1 

CHAPTER  IL 

CONVICTION  OP  SIN 16 

CHAPTER  IIL 
"grace  abounding" 35 

CHAPTER  IV. 

CALL  TO  THE  MINISTRY 52 

CHAPTER  V. 

ARREST  AND  TRIAL .....65 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  BEDFORD  GAOL 77 


Ti  CONTENTa 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PA  01 

LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN 89 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
"the  holy  war" 113 

CHAPTER  IX. 
"the  pilgrim's  progress" 149 

CHAPTER  X. 

LAST  DAYS  AND  DEATH 170 


BUNYAN. 

CHAPTER  I. 

EARLY    LIFE. 

"  I  WAS  of  a  low  and  inconsiderable  generation,  my  fa- 
ther's house  being  of  that  rank  that  is  meanest  and  most 
despised  of  all  families  in  the  land."  "  I  never  went  to 
school,  to  Aristotle  or  Plato,  but  was  brought  up  in  my 
father's  house  in  a  very  mean  condition,  among  a  com- 
pany of  poor  countrymen."  "  Nevertheless,  I  bless  God 
that  by  this  door  He  brought  me  into  the  world  to  par- 
take of  the  grace  and  life  that  is  by  Christ  in  His  Gospel." 
This  is  the  account  given  of  himself  and  his  origin  by  a 
man  whose  writings  have  for  two  centuries  affected  the 
spiritual  opinions  of  the  English  race  in  every  part  of  the 
world  more  powerfully  than  any  book  or  books,  except 
the  Bible. 

John  Banyan  was  bom  at  Elstow,  a  village  near  Bed- 
ford, in  the  year  1628.  It  was  a  memorable  epoch  in 
English  history,  for  in  that  year  the  House  of  Commons 
extorted  the  consent  of  Charles  I.  to  the  Petition  of  Right. 
The  stir  of  politics,  however,  did  not  reach  the  humble 
household  into  which  the  little  boy  was  introduced.  His 
father  was  hardly  occupied  in  earning  bread  for  his  wife 
and  children  as  a  naender  of  pots  and  kettles ;  a  tinker — 


S  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

working  in  neiglibours'  houses  or  at  home,  at  such  busi- 
ness as  might  be  brought  to  him.  "  The  Bunyans,"  says 
a  friend,  "  were  of  the  national  religion,  as  men  of  that 
calling  commonly  were."  Bunyan  himself,  in  a  passage 
which  has  been  always  understood  to  refer  to  his  father, 
describes  him  "  as  an  honest,  poor  labouring  man,  who,  like 
Adam  unparadised,  had  all  the  world  to  get  his  bread  in, 
and  was  very  careful  to  maintain  his  family."  In  those 
days  there  were  no  village  schools  in  England ;  the  educa- 
tion of  the  poor  was  an  apprenticeship  to  agriculture  or 
handicraft ;  their  religion  they  learnt  at  home  or  in  church. 
Young  Bunyan  was  more  fortunate.  In  Bedford  there 
was  a  grammar  school,  which  had  been  foimded  in  Queen 
Mary's  time  by  the  Lord  Mayor  of  London,  Sir  William 
Harper.  Hither,  when  he  was  old  enough  to  walk  to  and 
fro,  over  the  mile  of  road  between  Elstow  and  Bedford, 
the  child  was  sent,  if  not  to  learn  Aristotle  and  Plato,  to 
learn  at  least  "  to  read  and  write  according  to  the  rate  of 
other  poor  men's  children." 

If  religion  was  not  taught  at  school,  it  was  taught  with 
some  care  in  the  cottages  and  farmhouses  by  parents  and 
masters.  It  was  common  in  many  parts  of  England,  as 
late  as  the  end  of  the  last  century,  for  the  farmers  to 
gather  their  apprentices  about  them  on  Sunday  afternoons, 
and  to  teach  them  the  Catechism.  Rude  as  was  Bunyan's 
home,  religious  notions  of  some  kind  had  been  early  and 
vividly  impressed  upon  him.  He  caught,  indeed,  the  or- 
dinary habits  of  the  boys  among  whom  he  was  thrown. 
He  learnt  to  use  bad  language,  and  he  often  lied.  When 
a  child's  imagination  is  exceptionally  active,  the  tempta- 
tions to  untruth  are  correspondingly  powerful.  The  in- 
ventive faculty  has  its  dangers,  and  Bunyan  was  eminently 
gifted  in  that  way.    He  was  a  violent,  passionate  boy  be- 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE.  S 

sides,  and  thus  he  says  of  himself  that  for  lying  and  swear- 
ing he  had  no  equal,  and  that  his  parents  did  not  suflS- 
ciently  correct  him.  Wickedness,  he  declares  in  his  own 
remorseful  story  of  his  early  years,  became  a  second  nature 
to  him.  But  the  estimate  which  a  man  forms  of  himself 
in  later  life,  if  he  has  arrived  at  any  strong  abhorrence  of 
moral  evil,  is  harsher  than  others  at  the  time  would  have 
been  likely  to  have  formed.  Even  then  the  poor  child's 
conscience  must  have  been  curiously  sensitive,  and  it  re- 
venged itself  upon  him  in  singular  tortures. 

"  My  sins,"  he  says,  "  did  so  offend  the  Lord  that  even 
in  my  childhood  He  did  scare  and  affright  me  with  fear- 
ful dreams,  and  did  terrify  me  with  dreadful  visions.  I 
have  been  in  my  bed  greatly  afflicted  while  asleep,  with 
apprehensions  of  devils  and  wicked  spirits,  who  still,  as  I 
then  thought,  laboured  to  draw  me  away  with  them,  of 
which  I  could  never  be  rid.  I  was  afflicted  with  thoughts 
of  the  Day  of  Judgment  night  and  day,  trembling  at  the 
thoughts  of  the  fearful  torments  of  hell  fire."  When,  at 
ten  years  old,  he  was  running  about  with  his  companions 
in  "  his  sports  and  childish  vanities,"  these  terrors  contin- 
ually recurred  to  him,  yet  "  he  would  not  let  go  his  sins." 

Such  a  boy  required  rather  to  be  encouraged  than 
checked  in  seeking  innocent  amusements.  Swearing  and 
lying  were  definite  faults  which  ought  to  have  been  cor- 
rected ;  but  his  parents,  perhaps,  saw  that  there  was  some- 
thing unusual  in  the  child.  To  them  he  probably  ap- 
peared not  worse  than  other  boys,  but  considerably  better. 
They  may  have  thought  it  more  likely  that  he  would  con- 
quer his  own  bad  inclinations  by  his  own  efforts,  than  that 
they  could  mend  him  by  rough  rebukes. 

When  he  left  school  he  would  naturally  have  been 
bound  apprentice,  but  his  father  brought  him  up  at  his 
1* 


4  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

own  trade.  Thus  he  lived  at  home,  and  grew  to  manhood 
there,  forming  his  ideas  of  men  and  things  out  of  such 
opportunities  as  the  Elstow  neighbourhood  afforded. 

From  the  time  when  the  Reformation  brought  them  a 
translation  of  it,  the  Bible  was  the  book  most  read — it 
was  often  the  only  book  which  was  read  —  in  humble 
English  homes.  Familiarity  with  the  words  had  not  yet 
trampled  the  sacred  writings  into  practical  barrenness. 
No  doubts  or  questions  had  yet  risen  about  the  Bible's 
nature  or  origin.  It  was  received  as  the  authentic  word 
of  God  Himself.  The  Old  and  New  Testament  alike  rep- 
resented the  world  as  the  scene  of  a  struggle  between 
good  and  evil  spirits ;  and  thus  every  ordinary  incident  of 
daily  life  was  an  instance  or  illustration  of  God's  provi- 
dence. This  was  the  universal  popular  belief,  not  admit- 
ted only  by  the  intellect,  but  accepted  and  realised  by  the 
imagination.  No  one  questioned  it,  save  a  few  speculative 
philosophers  in  their  closets.  The  statesman  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  the  judge  on  the  Bench,  the  peasant  in  a 
midland  village,  interpreted  literally  by  this  rule  the  phe- 
nomena which  they  experienced  or  saw.  They  not  only 
believed  that  God  had  miraculously  governed  the  Israelites, 
but  they  believed  that  as  directly  and  immediately  He 
governed  England  in  the  seventeenth  century.  They  not 
only  believed  that  there  had  been  a  witch  at  Endor,  but 
they  believed  that  there  were  witches  in  their  own  villages, 
who  had  made  compacts  with  the  devil  himself.  They 
believed  that  the  devil  still  literally  walked  the  earth  like 
a  roaring  lion ;  that  he  and  the  evil  angels  were  perpetually 
labouring  to  destroy  the  souls  of  men ;  and  that  God  was 
equally  busy  overthrowing  the  devil's  work,  and  bringing 
sin  and  crimes  to  eventual  punishment. 

In  this  light  the  common  events  of  life  were  actually 


l]  early  life.  ft 

looked  at  and  understood,  and  the  air  was  filled  with  anec- 
dotes so  told  as  to  illustrate  the  belief.  These  stories  and 
these  experiences  were  Bunyan's  early  mental  food.  One 
of  them,  which  had  deeply  impressed  the  imagination  of 
the  Midland  counties,  was  the  story  of  "  Old  Tod."  This 
man  came  one  day  into  court,  in  the  Summer  Assizes  at 
Bedford,  "  all  in  a  dung  sweat,"  to  demand  justice  upon 
himself  as  a  felon.  No  one  had  accused  him,  but  God's 
judgment  was  not  to  be  escaped,  and  he  was  forced  to  ac- 
cuse himself.  "  My  Lord,"  said  Old  Tod  to  the  judge,  "  I 
have  been  a  thief  from  my  childhood.  I  have  been  a  thief 
ever  since.  There  has  not  been  a  robbery  committed  these 
many  years,  within  so  many  miles  of  this  town,  but  I  have 
been  privy  to  it."  The  judge,  after  a  conference,  agreed 
to  indict  him  of  certain  felonies  which  he  had  acknowl- 
edged. He  pleaded  guilty,  implicating  his  wife  along  with 
him,  and  they  were  both  hanged. 

An  intense  belief  in  the  moral  government  of  the  world 
creates  what  it  insists  upon.  Horror  at  sin  forces  the 
sinner  to  confess  it,  and  makes  others  eager  to  punish  it. 
"God's  revenge  against  murder  and  adultery"  becomes 
thus  an  actual  fact,  and  justifies  the  conviction  in  which  it 
rises.  Bunyan  was  specially  attentive  to  accounts  of  judg- 
ments upon  swearing,  to  which  he  was  himself  addicted. 
He  tells  a  story  of  a  man  at  Wimbledon,  who,  after  utter- 
ing some  strange  blasphemy,  was  struck  with  sickness,  and 
died  cursing.  Another  such  scene  he  probably  witnessed 
himself,'  and  never  forgot.  An  alehouse-keeper  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Elstow  had  a  son  who  was  half-witted. 
The  favourite  amusement,  when  a  party  was  collected  drink- 

'  The  story  is  told  by  Mr.  Attentive  in  the  Life  of  Mr.  Badman; 
but  it  is  almost  certain  that  Bunyan  was  relating  his  own  experience. 


6  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

ing,  was  for  the  father  to  provoke  the  lad's  temper,  and 
for  the  lad  to  curse  his  father  and  wish  the  devil  had  him. 
The  devil  at  last  did  have  the  alehouse-keeper,  and  rent 
and  tore  him  till  he  died.  *'  I,"  says  Bunyan, "  was  eye 
and  ear  witness  of  what  I  here  say.  I  have  heard  Ned  in 
his  roguery  cursing  his  father,  and  his  father  laughing 
thereat  most  heartily,  still  provoking  of  Ned  to  curse  that 
his  mirth  might  be  increased.  I  saw  his  father  also  when 
he  was  possessed.  I  saw  him  in  one  of  his  fits,  and  saw 
his  flesh  as  it  was  thought  gathered  up  in  a  heap  about 
the  bigness  of  half  an  egg,  to  the  unutterable  torture  and 
affliction  of  the  old  man.  There  was  also  one  Freeman, 
who  was  more  than  an  ordinary  doctor,  sent  for  to  cast 
out  the  devil,  and  I  was  there  when  he  attempted  to  do  it. 
The  manner  whereof  was  this.  They  had  the  possessed  in 
an  outroom,  and  laid  him  upon  his  belly  upon  a  form,  with 
his  head  hanging  down  over  the  form's  end.  Then  they 
bound  him  down  thereto ;  which  done,  they  sot  a  pan  of 
coals  under  his  mouth,  and  put  something  therein  which 
made  a  great  smoke — by  this  means,  as  it  was  said,  to 
fetch  out  the  devil.  There  they  kept  the  man  till  he  was 
almost  smothered  in  the  smoke,  but  no  devil  came  out  of 
him,  at  which  Freeman  was  somewhat  abashed,  the  man 
greatly  aflflictcd,  and  I  made  to  go  away  wondering  and 
fearing.  In  a  little  time,  therefore,  that  which  possessed 
the  man  carried  him  out  of  the  world,  according  to  the 
cursed  wishes  of  his  son." 

The  wretched  alehouse-keeper's  life  was  probably  sacri- 
ficed in  this  attempt  to  dispossess  the  devil.  But  the  inci- 
dent would  naturally  leave  its  mark  on  the  mind  of  an  im- 
pressionable boy.  Bunyan  ceased  to  frequent  such  places 
after  he  began  to  lead  a  religious  life.  The  story,  there- 
fore, most  likely  belongs  to  the  experiences  of  his  first 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE.  1 

youth  after  he  left  school ;  and  there  may  have  been  many 
more  of  a  similar  kind,  for,  except  that  he  was  steady  at 
his  trade,  he  grew  up  a  wild  lad,  the  ringleader  of  the  vil- 
lage apprentices  in  all  manner  of  mischief.  He  had  no 
books,  except  a  life  of  Sir  Bevis  of  Southampton,  which 
would  not  tend  to  sober  him  ;  indeed,  he  soon  forgot  all 
that  he  had  learnt  at  school,  and  took  to  amusements  and 
doubtful  adventures,  orchard  -  robbing,  perhaps,  or  poach- 
ing, since  he  hints  that  he  might  have  brought  himself 
within  reach  of  the  law.  In  the  most  passionate  language 
of  self-abhorrence,  he  accuses  himself  of  all  manner  of  sins, 
yet  it  is  improbable  that  he  appeared  to  others  what  in 
later  life  he  appeared  to  himself.  He  judged  his  own 
conduct  as  he  believed  that  it  was  regarded  by  his  Maker, 
by  whom  he  supposed  eternal  torment  to  have  been  assign- 
ed as  the  just  retribution  for  the  lightest  ofEence.  Yet  he 
was  never  drunk.  He  who  never  forgot  anything  with 
which  he  could  charge  himself,  would  not  have  passed  over 
drunkenness,  if  he  could  remember  that  he  had  been  guilty 
of  it ;  and  he  distinctly  asserts,  also,  that  he  was  never  in 
a  single  instance  unchaste.  In  our  days,  a  rough  tinker 
who  could  say  as  much  for  himself  after  he  had  grown  to 
manhood  would  be  regarded  as  a  model  of  self-restraint. 
If,  in  Bedford  and  the  neighbourhood,  there  was  no  young 
man  more  vicious  than  Bunyan,  the  moi*al  standard  of  an 
English  town  in  the  seventeenth  century  must  have  been 
higher  than  believers  in  Progress  will  be  pleased  to  allow. 
He  declares  that  he  was  without  God  in  the  world,  and 
in  the  sense  which  he  afterwards  attached  to  the  word  this 
was  probably  true.  But  serious  thoughts  seldom  ceased 
to  work  in  him.  Dreams  only  reproduce  the  forms  and 
feelings  with  which  the  waking  imagination  is  most  en- 
gaged.    Bunyan's  rest  continued  to  be  haunted  with  the 


8  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

phantoms  which  had  terrified  him  when  a  child.  He  start- 
ed in  his  sleep,  and  frightened  the  family  with  his  cries. 
He  saw  evil  spirits  in  monstrous  shapes,  and  fiends  blowing 
flames  out  of  their  nostrils.  "  Once,"  says  a  biographer, 
who  knew  him  well,  and  had  heard  the  story  of  his  visions 
from  his  own  lips,  *'  he  dreamed  that  he  saw  the  face  of 
heaven  as  it  were  on  fire,  the  firmament  crackling  and 
shivering  with  the  noise  of  mighty  thunder,  and  an  arch- 
angel flew  in  the  midst  of  heaven,  sounding  a  trumpet,  and 
a  glorious  throne  was  seated  in  the  east,  whereon  sat  One 
in  brightness  like  the  morning  star.  Upon  which  he,  think- 
ing it  was  the  end  of  the  world,  fell  upon  his  knees  and 
said, '  Oh,  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me !  What  shall  I  do  ? 
The  Day  of  Judgment  is  come,  and  I  am  not  prepared.' " 

At  another  time  "  he  dreamed  that  he  was  in  a  pleasant 
place  jovial  and  rioting,  when  an  earthquake  rent  the  earth, 
out  of  which  came  bloody  flames,  and  the  figures  of  men 
tossed  up  in  globes  of  fire,  and  falling  down  again  with 
horrible  cries  and  shrieks  and  execrations,  while  devils 
mingled  among  them,  and  laughed  aloud  at  their  torments. 
As  he  stood  trembling,  the  earth  sank  under  him,  and  a 
circle  of  flames  embraced  him.  But  when  he  fancied  he 
was  at  the  point  to  perish,  One  in  shining  white  raiment 
descended  and  plucked  him  out  of  that  dreadful  place, 
while  the  devils  cried  after  him  to  take  him  to  the  punish- 
ment which  his  sins  had  deserved.  Yet  he  escaped  the 
danger,  and  leapt  for  joy  when  he  awoke  and  found  it  was 
a  dream." 

Mr.  Southey,  who  thinks  wisely  that  Bunyan's  biogra- 
phers have  exaggerated  his  early  faults,  considers  that  at 
worst  he  was  a  sort  of  "  blackguard."  This,  too,  is  a 
wrong  word.  Young  village  blackguards  do  not  dream 
of  archangels  flying  through  the  midst  of  heaven,  nor  were 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE.  9 

these  imaginations  invented  afterwards,  or  rhetorically  ex- 
aggerated. Banyan  was  undoubtedly  given  to  story-tell- 
ing as  a  boy,  and  the  recollection  of  it  made  him  peculiar- 
ly scrupulous  in  his  statements  in  later  life.  One  trait  he 
mentions  of  himself  which  no  one  would  have  thought  of 
who  had  not  experienced  the  feeling,  yet  every  person  can 
understand  it  and  sympathise  with  it.  These  spectres  and 
hobgoblins  drove  him  wild.  He  says, "  I  was  so  overcome 
with  despair  of  life  and  heaven,  that  I  should  often  wish 
either  that  there  had  been  no  hell,  or  that  I  had  been  a 
devil ;  supposing  that  they  were  only  tormentors,  and  that, 
if  it  must  needs  be  that  I  went  thither,  I  might  be  rather 
a  tormentor  than  tormented  myself." . 

The  visions  at  last  ceased.  God  left  him  to  himself,  as 
he  puts  it,  and  gave  him  over  to  his  own  wicked  inclina- 
tions. He  fell,  he  says,  into  all  kinds  of  vice  and  un- 
godliness without  further  check.  The  expression  is  very 
strong,  yet  when  we  look  for  particulars  we  can  find  only 
that  he  was  fond  of  games  which  Puritan  preciseness  dis- 
approved. He  had  high  animal  spirits,  and  engaged  in 
lawless  enterprises.  Once  or  twice  he  nearly  lost  his  life. 
He  is  sparing  of  details  of  his  outward  history,  for  he  re- 
garded it  as  nothing  but  vanity ;  but  his  escapes  from 
death  were  providences,  and  therefore  he  mentions  them. 
He  must  have  gone  to  the  coast  somewhere,  for  he  was 
once  almost  drowned  in  a  creek  of  the  sea.  He  fell  out 
of  a  boat  into  the  river  at  another  time,  and  it  seems  that 
he  could  not  swim.  Afterwards  he  seized  hold  of  an  ad- 
der, and  was  not  bitten  by  it.  These  mercies  were  sent 
as  warnings,  but  he  says  that  he  was  too  careless  to  profit 
by  them.  He  thought  that  he  had  forgotten  God  alto- 
gether, and  yet  it  is  plain  that  he  had  not  forgotten.  A 
bad  young  man,  who  has  shaken  off  religion  because  it  is 


10  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

a  restraint,  observes  with  malicious  amusement  the  faults 
of  persons  who  make  a  profession  of  religion.  He  infers 
that  they  do  not  really  believe  it,  and  only  differ  from 
their  neighbours  in  being  hypocrites.  Bunyan  notes  this 
disposition  in  his  own  history  of  Mr.  Badman.  Of  him- 
self he  says :  "  Though  I  could  sin  with  delight  and  ease, 
and  take  pleasure  in  the  villanies  of  my  companions,  even 
then,  if  I  saw  wicked  things  done  by  them  that  professed 
goodness,  it  would  make  my  spirit  tremble.  Once,  when 
I  was  in  the  height  of  my  vanity,  hearing  one  swear  that 
was  reckoned  a  religious  man,  it  made  my  heart  to  ache." 
He  was  now  seventeen,  and  we  can  form  a  tolerably  ac- 
curate picture  of  him — a  tall,  active  lad,  working  as  his 
father's  apprentice  at  his  pots  and  kettles,  ignorant  of 
books,  and  with  no  notion  of  the  world  beyond  what  he 
could  learn  in  his  daily  drudgery,  and  the  talk  of  the  ale- 
house and  the  village  green;  inventing  lies  to  amuse  his 
companions,  and  swearing  that  they  were  true;  playing 
bowls  and  tipcat,  ready  for  any  reckless  action,  and  al- 
ways a  leader  in  it,  yet  all  the  while  singularly  pure  from 
the  more  brutal  forms  of  vice,  and  haunted  with  feverish 
thoughts,  which  he  tried  to  forget  in  amusements.  It  has 
been  the  fashion  to  take  his  account  of  himself  literally, 
and  represent  him  as  the  worst  of  reprobates,  in  order  to 
magnify  the  effects  of  his  conversion,  and  perhaps  to  make 
intelligible  to  his  admiring  followers  the  reproaches  which 
he  heaps  upon  himself.  They  may  have  felt  that  they 
could  not  be  wrong  in  explaining  his  own  language  in  the 
only  sense  in  which  they  could  attach  a  meaning  to  it. 
Yet,  sinner  though  he  may  have  been,  like  all  the  rest  of 
us,  his  sins  were  not  the  sins  of  coarseness  and  vulgarity. 
They  were  the  sins  of  a  youth  of  sensitive  nature  and  very 
peculiar  gifts  —  gifts  which  brought  special  temptations 


I.]  EARLY  LIFE.  11 

with  them,  and  inclined  him  to  be  careless  and  desperate, 
yet  from  causes  singularly  unlike  those  which  are  usually 
operative  in  dissipated  and  uneducated  boys. 

It  was  now  the  year  1645.  Naseby  Field  was  near,  and 
the  first  Civil  War  was  drawing  to  its  close.  At  this  cri- 
sis Bunyan  was,  as  he  says,  drawn  to  be  a  soldier ;  and  it 
is  extremely  characteristic  of  him  and  of  the  body  to  which 
he  belonged,  that  he  leaves  us  to  guess  on  which  side  he 
served.  He  does  not  tell  us  himself.  His  friends  in  after- 
life did  not  care  to  ask  him,  or  he  to  inform  them,  or  else 
they  also  thought  the  matter  of  too  small  importance  to 
be  worth  mentioning  with  exactness.  There  were  two  tra- 
ditions, and  his  biographers  chose  between  them  as  we  do. 
Close  as  the  connection  was  in  that  great  struggle  between 
civil  and  religious  liberty — flung  as  Bunyan  was  flung  into 
the  very  centre  of  the  conflict  between  the  English  people 
and  the  Crown  and  Church  and  aristocracy — victim  as  he 
was  himself  of  intolerance  and  persecution,  he  never  but 
once  took  any  political  part,  and  then  only  in  signing  an 
address  to  Cromwell.  He  never  showed  any  active  inter- 
est in  political  questions ;  and  if  he  spoke  on  such  ques- 
tiona-  at  all  after  the  Restoration,  it  was  to  advise  submis- 
sion to  the  Stuart  Government.  By  the  side  of  the  stu- 
pendous issues  of  human  life,  such  miserable  rights  as  men 
might  pretend  to  in  this  world  were  not  worth  contending 
for.  The  only  right  of  man  that  he  thought  much  about, 
was  the  right  to  be  eternally  damned  if  he  did  not  lay 
hold  of  grace.  King  and  subject  were  alike  creatures, 
whose  sole  significance  lay  in  their  individual  immortal 
souls.  Their  relations  with  one  another  upon  earth  were 
nothing  in  the  presence  of  the  awful  judgment  which 
awaited  them  both.     Thus,  whether  Bunyan's  brief  career 

in  the  army  was  under  Charles  or  under  Fairfax  must  re- 
B  % 


12  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

main  doubtful.  Probability  is  on  the  side  of  his  having 
been  with  the  Royalists.  His  father  was  of  "the  national 
religion."  He  himself  had  as  yet  no  special  convictions 
of  his  own.  John  Gifford,  the  Baptist  minister  at  Bed- 
ford, had  been  a  Royalist.  The  only  incident  which  Bun- 
yan  speaks  of  connected  with  his  military  experience 
points  in  the  same  direction.  "When  I  was  a  soldier," 
he  says,  "  I  was  with  others  drawn  out  to  go  to  such  a 
place  to  besiege  it.  But  when  I  was  just  ready  to  go,  one 
of  the  company  desired  to  go  in  my  room.  Coming  to 
the  siege  as  he  stood  sentinel  he  was  shot  in  the  heart 
with  a  musket  bullet  and  died."  Tradition  agrees  that 
the  place  to  which  these  words  refer  was  Leicester.  Leices- 
ter was  stormed  by  the  King's  troops  a  few  days  before 
the  battle  of  Naseby.  It  was  recovered  afterwards  by  the 
Parliamentarians,  but  on  the  second  occasion  there  was  no 
fighting,  as  it  capitulated  without  a  shot  being  fired.  Mr. 
Carlyle  supposes  that  Bunyan  was  not  with  the  attacking 
party,  but  was  in  the  town  as  one  of  the  garrison,  and  was 
taken  prisoner  there.  But  this  cannot  be,  for  he  says  ex- 
pressly that  he  was  one  of  the  besiegers.  Legend  gathers 
freely  about  eminent  men,  about  men  especially  who  are 
eminent  in  religion,  whether  they  are  Catholic  or  Protes- 
tant. Lord  Macaulay  is  not  only  positive  that  the  hero  of 
the  English  Dissenters  fought  on  the  side  of  the  Common- 
wealth, but  he  says,  without  a  word  of  caution  on  the  im- 
perfection of  the  evidence,  "His  Greatheart,  his  Captain 
Boanerges,  and  his  Captain  Credence,  are  evidently  por- 
traits of  which  the  originals  were  among  those  martial 
saints  who  fought  and  expounded  in  Fairfax's  army.'" 
If  the  martial  saints  had  impressed  Bunyan  so  deeply, 

*  lAfe  of  Bunyan :  Collected  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  299. 


l]  early  life.  18 

it  is  inconceivable  that  he  should  have  made  no  more  al- 
lusion to  his  military  service  than  in  this  brief  passage. 
He  refers  to  the  siege  and  all  connected  with  it  merely 
as  another  occasion  of  his  own  providential  escapes  from 
death. 

Let  the  truth  of  this  be  what  it  may,  the  troop  to  which 
he  belonged  was  soon  disbanded.  He  returned  at  the  end 
of  the  year  to  his  tinker's  work  at  Elstow  much  as  he  had 
left  it.  The  saints,  if  he  had  met  with  saints,  had  not 
converted  him.  "  I  sinned  still,"  he  says,  "  and  grew  more 
and  more  rebellious  against  God  and  careless  of  my  own 
salvation."  An  important  change  of  another  kind,  how- 
ever, lay  before  him.  Young  as  he  was,  he  married.  His 
friends  advised  it,  for  they  thought  that  marriage  would 
make  him  steady.  The  step  was  less  imprudent  than  it 
would  have  been  had  Bunyan  been  in  a  higher  rank  of 
life,  or  had  aimed  at  rising  into  it.  The  girl  whom  he 
chose  was  a  poor  orphan,  but  she  had  been  carefully  and 
piously  brought  up,  and  from  her  acceptance  of  him, 
something  more  may  be  inferred  about  his  character. 
Had  he  been  a  dissolute,  idle  scamp,  it  is  unlikely  that  a 
respectable  woman  would  have  become  his  wife  when  he 
was  a  mere  boy.  His  sins,  whatever  these  were,  had  not 
injured  his  outward  circumstances ;  it  is  clear  that  all  along 
he  worked  skilfully  and  industriously  at  his  tinkering  busi- 
ness. He  had  none  of  the  habits  which  bring  men  to  beg- 
gary. From  the  beginning  of  his  life  to  the  end  of  it  he 
was  a  prudent,  careful  man,  and,  considering  the  station  to 
which  he  belonged,  a  very  successful  man. 

"I  lighted  on  a  wife,"  he  says,  "whose  father  was 
counted  godly.  We  came  together  as  poor  as  poor  might 
be,  not  having  so  much  household  stuff  as  a  dish  or  a 
spoon  between  us.      But  she   had  for  her  portion  two 


14  BFNYAN.  [ohaf. 

books,  The  Plain  MarCs  Pathway  to  Heaven,  and  The 
Practice  of  Piety,  which  her  father  had  left  her  when  he 
died.  In  these  two  books  I  sometimes  read  with  her.  I 
found  some  things  pleasing  to  me,  but  all  this  while  I  met 
with  no  conviction.  She  often  told  me  what  a  godly  man 
her  father  was;  how  he  would  reprove  and  correct  vice 
both  in  his  house  and  among  his  neighbours ;  what  a  strict 
and  holy  life  he  lived  in  his  day,  both  in  word  and  deed. 
These  books,  though  they  did  not  reach  my  heart,  did 
light  in  me  some  desire  to  religion." 

There  was  still  an  Established  Church  in  England,  and 
the  constitution  of  it  had  not  yet  been  altered.  The  Pres- 
byterian platform  threatened  to  take  the  place  of  Episco- 
pacy, and  soon  did  take  it ;  but  the  clergyman  was  still  a 
priest,  and  was  still  regarded  with  pious  veneration  in  the 
country  districts  as  a  semi-supernatural  being.  The  altar 
yet  stood  in  its  place,  the  minister  still  appeared  in  his 
surplice,  and  the  Prayers  of  the  Liturgy  continued  to  be 
read  or  intoned.  The  old  familiar  bells.  Catholic  as  they 
were  in  all  the  emotions  which  they  suggested,  called 
the  congregation  together  with  their  musical  peal,  though 
in  the  midst  of  triumphant  Puritanism.  The  Book  of 
Sports,  which,  under  an  order  from  Charles  I.,  had  been 
read  regularly  in  Church,  had  in  1644  been  laid  under  a 
ban ;  but  the  gloom  of  a  Presbyterian  Sunday  was,  is,  and 
for  ever  will  be  detestable  to  the  natural  man ;  and  the 
Elstow  population  gathered  persistently  after  service  on 
the  village  green  for  their  dancing,  and  their  leaping,  and 
their  archery.  Long  habit  cannot  be  transformed  in  a 
day  by  an  Edict  of  Council,  and  amidst  army  manifestoes 
and  battles  of  Marston  Moor,  and  a  king  dethroned  and 
imprisoned,  old  English  life  in  Bedfordshire  preserved  its 
familiar  features.     These  Sunday  sports  had  been  a  special 


l]  early  life.  16 

delight  to  Bunyan,  and  it  is  to  them  which  he  refers  in  the 
following  passage,  when  speaking  of  his  persistent  wicked- 
ness. On  his  marriage  he  became  regular  and  respectable 
in  his  habits.  He  says,  "  I  fell  in  with  the  religion  of  the 
times  to  go  to  church  twice  a  day,  very  devoutly  to  say 
and  sing  as  the  others  did,  yet  retaining  my  wicked  life. 
Withal  I  was  so  overrun  with  the  spirit  of  superstition 
that  I  adored  with  great  devotion  even  all  things,  both  the 
high  place,  priest,  clerk,  vestment,  service,  and  what  else 
belonging  to  the  Church,  counting  all  things  holy  therein 
contained,  and  especially  the  priest  and  clerk  most  happy 
and  without  doubt  greatly  blessed.  This  conceit  grew  so 
strong  in  my  spirit  that  had  I  but  seen  a  priest,  though 
never  so  sordid  and  debauched  in  his  life,  I  should  find 
my  spirit  fall  under  him,  reverence,  and  be  knit  to  him — 
their  name,  their  garb,  and  work  did  so  intoxicate  and  be- 
witch me." 

Surely  if  there  were  no  other  evidence,  these  words 
would  show  that  the  writer  of  them  had  never  listened  to 
the  expositions  of  the  martial  saints. 


CHAPTER  IL 

CONVICTION   OP   SIN. 

The  PilgrinCs  Progress  is  the  history  of  the  straggle  of 
human  nature  to  overcome  temptation  and  shake  off  the 
bondage  of  sin,  under  the  convictions  which  prevailed 
among  serious  men  in  England  in  the  seventeenth  century. 
The  allegory  is  the  life  of  its  author  cast  in  an  imagina- 
tive form.  Every  step  in  Christian's  journey  had  been 
first  trodden  by  Bunyan  himself;  every  pang  of  fear  and 
shame,  every  spasm  of  despair,  every  breath  of  hope  and 
consolation,  which  is  there  described,  is  but  a  reflexion  as 
on  a  mirror  from  personal  experience.  It  has  spoken  to 
the  hearts  of  all  later  generations  of  Englishmen  because 
it  came  from  the  heart ;  because  it  is  the  true  record  of 
the  genuine  emotions  of  a  human  soul;  and  to  such  a 
record  the  emotions  of  other  men  will  respond,  as  one 
stringed  instrument  vibrates  responsively  to  another.  The 
poet's  power  lies  in  creating  sympathy ;  but  he  cannot, 
however  richly  gifted,  stir  feelings  which  he  has  not  him- 
self known  in  all  their  intensity. 

**  Ut  ridentibus  arrident  ita  flentibus  adflent 
Humani  vultus.    Si  vis  me  flere  dolendum  est 
Primum  ipsi  tibi." 

The  religious  history  of  man  is  essentially  the  same  in 
all  ages.    It  takes  its  rise  in  the  duality  of  his  nature.     He 


CHAP.u.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN.  17 

is  an  animal,  and  as  an  animal  he  desires  bodily  pleasure 
and  shrinks  from  bodily  pain.  As  a  being  capable  of 
morality,  he  is  conscious  that  for  him  there  exists  a  right 
and  -wrong.  Something,  whatever  that  something  may 
be,  binds  him  to  choose  one  and  avoid  the  other.  This 
is  his  religion,  his  religatio,  his  obligation,  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  Romans,  from  whom  we  take  it,  used  the  word ; 
and  obligation  implies  some  superior  power  to  which  man 
owes  obedience.  The  conflict  between  his  two  disposi- 
tions agitates  his  heart  and  perplexes  his  intellect.  To  do 
what  the  superior  power  requires  of  him,  he  must  thwart 
his  inclinations.  He  dreads  punishment,  if  he  neglects  to 
do  it.  He  invents  methods  by  which  he  can  indulge  his 
appetites,  and  finds  a  substitute  by  which  he  can  propi- 
tiate his  invisible  ruler  or  rulers.  He  offers  sacrifices ;  he 
institutes  ceremonies  and  observances.  This  is  the  re- 
ligion of  the  body,  the  religion  of  fear.  It  is  what  we 
call  superstition.  In  his  nobler  moods  he  feels  that  this 
is  but  to  evade  the  difficulty.  He  perceives  that  the  sac- 
rifice required  is  the  sacrifice  of  himself.  It  is  not  the 
penalty  for  sin  which  he  must  fear,  but  the  sin  itself.  He 
must  conquer  his  own  lower  nature.  He  must  detach  his 
heart  from  his  pleasures,  and  he  must  love  good  for  its 
own  sake,  and  because  it  is  his  only  real  good ;  and  this  is 
spiritual  religion  or  piety.  Between  these  two  forms  of 
worship  of  the  unseen,  the  human  race  has  swayed  to  and 
fro  from  the  first  moment  in  which  they  learnt  to  discern 
between  good  and  evil.  Superstition  attracts,  because  it 
is  indulgent  to  immorality  by  providing  means  by  which 
God  can  be  pacified.  But  it  carries  its  antidote  along 
with  it,  for  it  keeps  alive  the  sense  of  God's  existence ; 
and  when  it  has  produced  its  natural  effects,  when  the 
believer  rests  in  his  observances  and  lives  practically  as  if 


18  BtJNTAN,  [chap. 

there  was  no  God  at  all,  the  conscience  again  awakes. 
Sacrifices  and  ceremonies  become  detested  as  idolatry, 
and  religion  becomes  conviction  of  sin,  a  fiery  determina- 
tion to  fight  with  the  whole  soul  against  appetite,  vanity, 
self-seeking,  and  every  mean  propensity  which  the  most 
sensitive  alarm  can  detect.  The  battle  unhappily  is  at- 
tended with  many  vicissitudes.  The  victory,  though 
practically  it  may  be  won,  is  never  wholly  won.  The 
struggle  brings  with  it  every  variety  of  emotion,  alterna- 
tions of  humility  and  confidence,  despondency  and  hope. 
The  essence  of  it  is  always  the  same — the  effort  of  the 
higher  nature  to  overcome  the  lower.  The  form  of  it 
varies  from  period  to  period,  according  to  the  conditions 
of  the  time,  the  temperament  of  different  people,  the 
conception  of  the  character  of  the  Supreme  Power,  which 
the  state  of  knowledge  enables  men  to  form.  It  will  be 
found  even  when  the  puzzled  intellect  can  see  no  light  in 
Heaven  at  all,  in  the  stern  and  silent  fulfilment  of  moral 
duty.  It  will  appear  as  enthusiasm;  it  will  appear  as 
asceticism ;  it  will  appear  wherever  there  is  courage  to  sac- 
rifice personal  enjoyment  for  a  cause  believed  to  be  holy. 
We  must  all  live.  We  must  all,  as  we  suppose,  in  one 
shape  or  other,  give  account  for  our  actions ;  and  accounts 
of  the  conflict  are  most  individually  interesting  when  it 
is  an  open  wrestle  with  the  enemy;  as  we  find  in  the 
penances  and  austerities  of  the  Catholic  saints,  or  when 
the  difficulties  of  belief  are  confessed  and  detailed,  as  in 
David's  Psalms,  or  in  the  Epistles  of  St.  Paul.  St.  Paul, 
like  the  rest  of  mankind,  found  a  law  in  his  members 
warring  against  the  law  which  was  in  his  heart.  The 
problem  presented  to  him  was  how  one  was  to  be  brought 
into  subjection  to  the  other,  and  the  solution  was  by  "  the 
putting  on  of  Christ."     St.  Paul's  mind  was  charged  with 


n.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN.  19 

the  ideas  of  Oriental  and  Greek  philosophy  then  prevalent 
in  the  Roman  Empire.  His  hearers  understood  him,  be- 
cause he  spoke  in  the  language  of  the  prevailing  specula- 
tions. We  who  have  not  the  clue  cannot,  perhaps,  per- 
fectly understand  him ;  but  his  words  have  been  variously 
interpreted  as  human  intelligence  has  expanded,  and  have 
formed  the  basis  of  the  two  great  theologies  which  have 
been  developed  out  of  Christianity.  The  Christian  relig 
ion  taught  that  evil  could  not  be  overcome  by  natural 
human  strength.  The  Son  of  God  had  come  miraculously 
upon  earth,  had  lived  a  life  of  stainless  purity,  and  had 
been  offered  as  a  sacrifice  to  redeem  men  conditionally 
from  the  power  of  sin.  The  conditions,  as  English  Prot- 
estant theology  understands  them,  are  nowhere  more  com- 
pletely represented  than  in  The  Pilgrim^ s  Progress.  The 
Catholic  theology,  rising  as  it  did  in  the  two  centuries  im- 
mediately following  St.  Paul,  approached,  probably,  nearer 
to  what  he  really  intended  to  say. 

Catholic  theology,  as  a  system,  is  a  development  of 
Platonism.  The  Platonists  had  discovered  that  the  seat 
of  moral  evil  was  material  substance.  In  matter,  and 
therefore  in  the  human  body,  there  was  either  some  in- 
herent imperfection,  or  some  ingrained  perversity  and 
antagonism  to  good.  The  soul,  so  long  as  it  was  attached 
to  the  body,  was  necessarily  infected  by  it ;  and  as  human 
life  on  earth  consisted  in  the  connection  of  soul  and  body, 
every  single  man  was  necessarily  subject  to  infirmity. 
Catholic  theology  accepted  the  position  and  formulated  an 
escape  from  it.  The  evil  in  matter  was  a  fact.  It  was 
explained  by  Adam's  sin.  But  there  it  was.  The  taint 
was  inherited  by  all  Adam's  posterity.  The  flesh  of  man 
was  incurably  vitiated,  and  if  he  was  to  be  saved,  a  new 
body  must  be  prepared  for  him.  This  Christ  had  done. 
8 


20  BUNTAN.  [chap. 

That  Christ's  body  was  not  as  other  men's  bodies  was 
proved  after  his  resurrection,  when  it  showed  itself  inde- 
pendent of  the  limitations  of  extended  substance.  In 
virtue  of  these  mysterious  properties,  it  became  the  body 
of  the  Corporate  Church,  into  which  believers  were  ad- 
mitted by  baptism.  The  natural  body  was  not  at  once 
destroyed,  but  a  new  element  was  introduced  into  it,  by 
the  power  of  which,  assisted  by  penance,  and  mortifica- 
tion, and  the  spiritual  food  of  the  Eucharist,  the  grosser 
qualities  were  gradually  subdued,  and  the  corporeal  system 
was  changed.  Then  body  and  spirit  became  alike  pure 
together,  and  the  saint  became  capable  of  obedience,  so 
perfect  as  not  only  to  suflSce  for  himself,  but  to  supply 
the  wants  of  others.  The  corruptible  put  on  incorruption. 
The  bodies  of  the  saints  worked  miracles,  and  their  flesh 
was  found  unaffected  by  decay  after  hundreds  of  years. 

This  belief,  so  long  as  it  was  sincerely  held,  issued  nat- 
urally in  characters  of  extreme  beauty — of  beauty  so  great 
as  almost  to  demonstrate  its  truth.  The  purpose  of  it,  so 
far  as  it  affected  action,  was  self -conquest.  Those  who 
try  with  their  whole  souls  to  conquer  themselves  find  the 
effort  lightened  by  a  conviction  that  they  are  receiving 
supernatural  assistance ;  and  the  form  in  which  the  Catho- 
lic theory  supposed  the  assistance  to  be  given  was  at  least 
perfectly  innocent  But  it  is  in  the  nature  of  human 
speculations,  though  they  may  have  been  entertained  at 
first  in  entire  good  faith,  to  break  down  under  trial,  if 
they  are  not  in  conformity  with  faot  Catholic  theology 
furnished  Europe  with  a  rule  of  faith  and  action  which 
lasted  1500  years.  For  the  last  three  centuries  of  that 
period  it  was  changing  from  a  religion  into  a  superstition, 
till,  from  being  the  world's  guide,  it  became  its  scandal. 
"The  body  of  Christ"  had  become  a  kingdom  of  this 


n.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN.  21 

world,  insulting  its  subjects  by  the  effrontery  of  its  minis- 
ters, the  insolence  of  its  pretensions,  the  mountains  of  lies 
which  it  was  teaching  as  sacred  truths.  Luther  spoke ; 
and  over  half  the  Western  world  the  Catholic  Church 
collapsed,  and  a  new  theory  and  Christianity  had  to  be 
constructed  out  of  the  fragments  of  it. 

There  was  left  behind  a  fixed  belief  in  God  and  in  the 
Bible  as  His  revealed  word,  in  a  future  judgment,  in  the 
fall  of  man,  in  the  atonement  made  for  sin  by  the  death 
of  Christ,  and  in  the  new  life  which  was  made  possible  by 
His  resurrection.  The  change  was  in  the  conception  of 
the  method  by  which  the  atonement  was  imagined  to  be 
eflBcacious.  The  material  or  sacramental  view  of  it,  though 
it  lingered  inconsistently  in  the  mind  even  of  Luther  him- 
self, was  substantially  gone.  New  ideas  adopted  in  en- 
thusiasm are  necessarily  extreme.  The  wrath  of  God  was 
held  to  be  inseparably  and  eternally  attached  to  every  act 
of  sin,  however  infirm  the  sinner.  That  his  nature  could 
be  changed,  and  that  he  could  be  mystically  strengthened 
by  incorporation  with  Christ's  body  in  the  Church,  was 
contrary  to  experience,  and  was  no  longer  credible.  The 
conscience  of  every  man,  in  the  Church  or  out  of  it,  told 
him  that  he  was  daily  and  hourly  offending.  God's  law 
demanded  a  life  of  perfect  obedience,  eternal  death  being 
the  penalty  of  the  lightest  breach  of  it.  No  human  being 
was  capable  of  such  perfect  obedience.  He  could  not  do 
one  single  act  which  would  endure  so  strict  a  scrutiny. 
All  mankind  were  thus  included  under  sin.  The  Catholic 
Purgatory  was  swept  away.  It  had  degenerated  into  a 
contrivance  for  feeding  the  priests  with  money,  and  it  im- 
plied that  human  nature  could  in  itself  be  renovated  by  its 
own  sufferings.  Thus  nothing  lay  before  the  whole  race 
except  everlasting  reprobation.     But  the  door  of  hope  had 


21  BUNYAN.  [char 

been  opened  on  the  cross  of  Christ.  Christ  had  done 
what  man  could  never  do.  He  had  fulfilled  the  law  per- 
fectly. God  was  ready  to  accept  Christ's  perfect  right- 
eousness as  a  substitute  for  the  righteousness  which  man 
was  required  to  present  to  him,  but  could  not.  The  con- 
ditions of  acceptance  were  no  longer  sacraments  or  out- 
ward acts,  or  lame  and  impotent  efforts  after  a  moral  life, 
but  faith  in  what  Christ  had  done ;  a  complete  self-abne- 
gation, a  resigned  consciousness  of  utter  unworthiness,  and 
an  unreserved  acceptance  of  the  mercy  held  out  through 
the  Atonement.  It  might  have  been  thought  that  since 
man  was  bom  so  weak  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
do  what  the  law  required,  consideration  would  be  had  for 
his  infirmity;  that  it  was  even  dangerous  to  attribute  to 
the  Almighty  a  character  so  arbitrary  as  that  He  would 
exact  an  account  from  his  creatures  which  the  creature's 
necessary  inadequacy  rendered  him  incapable  of  meeting. 
But  the  impetuosity  of  the  new  theology  would  listen  to 
no  such  excuses.  God  was  infinitely  pure,  and  nothing 
impure  could  stand  in  his  sight.  Man,  so  long  as  he  rest- 
ed on  merit  of  his  own,  must  be  for  ever  excluded  from  his 
presence.  He  must  accept  grace  on  the  terms  on  which  it 
was  held  out  to  him ;  then,  and  then  only,  God  would  ex- 
tend his  pity  to  him.  He  was  no  longer  a  child  of  wrath : 
he  was  God's  child.  His  infirmities  remained,  but  they 
were  constantly  obliterated  by  the  merits  of  Christ.  And 
he  had  strength  given  to  him,  partially,  at  least,  to  overcome 
temptation,  under  which,  but  for  that  strength,  he  would 
have  fallen.  Though  nothing  which  he  could  do  could 
deserve  reward,  yet  he  received  grace  in  proportion  to  the 
firmness  of  his  belief ;  and  his  efforts  after  obedience,  im- 
perfect though  they  might  be,  were  accepted  for  Christ's 
sake.    A  good  life,  or  a  constant  effort  after  a  good  life, 


n.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN.  S8 

was  still  the  object  which  a  man  was  bound  to  labour  after. 
Though  giving  no  claim  to  pardon,  still  less  for  reward,  it 
was  the  necessary  fruit  of  a  sense  of  what  Christ  had  done, 
and  of  love  and  gratitude  towards  him.  Good  works  were 
the  test  of  saving  faith ;  and  if  there  were  no  signs  of  them, 
the  faith  was  barren :  it  was  not  real  faith  at  all. 

This  was  the  Puritan  belief  in  England  in  the  seven- 
teenth century.  The  reason  starts  at  it,  but  all  religion  is 
paradoxical  to  reason.  God  hates  sin,  yet  sin  exists.  He 
is  omnipotent,  yet  evil  is  not  overcome.  The  will  of  man 
is  free,  or  there  can  be  no  guilt ;  yet  the  action  of  the  will, 
so  far  as  experience  can  throw  light  on  its  operation,  is  as 
much  determined  by  antecedent  causes  as  every  other  nat- 
ural force.  Prayer  is  addressed  to  a  Being  assumed  to  be 
omniscient ;  who  knows  better  what  is  good  for  us  than  we 
can  know ;  who  sees  our  thoughts  without  requiring  to  hear 
them  in  words ;  whose  will  is  fixed  and  cannot  be  changed. 
Prayer,  therefore,  in  the  eye  of  reason,  is  an  impertinence. 
The  Puritan  theology  is  not  more  open  to  objection  on 
the  ground  of  unreasonableness  than  the  Catholic  theology, 
or  any  other  which  regards  man  as  answerable  to  God  for 
his  conduct.  We  must  judge  of  a  creed  by  its  effects  on 
character,  as  we  judge  of  the  wholesomeness  of  food  as  it 
conduces  to  bodily  health.  And  the  creed  which  swept 
like  a  wave  through  England  at  that  time,  and  recom- 
mended itself  to  the  noblest  and  most  powerful  intellects, 
produced  also  in  those  who  accepted  it  a  horror  of  sin, 
an  enthusiasm  for  justice,  purity,  and  manliness,  which  can 
be  paralleled  only  in  the  first  age  of  Christianity.  Cer- 
tainly there  never  was  such  a  theory  to  take  man's  conceit 
out  of  him.  He  was  a  miserable  wretch,  so  worthless  at 
his  best  as  to  deserve  everlasting  perdition.  If  he  was  to 
be  saved  at  all,  he  could  be  saved  only  by  the  unmerited 


24  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

grace  of  God.  In  himself  he  was  a  child  of  the  devil; 
and  hell,  not  in  metaphor,  but  in  hard  and  palpable  fact, 
inevitably  waited  for  him.  This  belief,  or  the  affectation 
of  this  belief,  continues  to  be  professed,  but  without  a  real- 
isation of  its  tremendous  meaning.  The  form  of  words  is 
repeated  by  multitudes  who  do  not  care  to  think  what  they 
are  saying.  Who  can  measure  the  effect  of  such  a  con- 
viction upon  men  who  were  in  earnest  about  their  souls, 
who  were  assured  that  this  account  of  their  situation  was 
actually  true,  and  on  whom,  therefore,  it  bore  with  increas- 
ing weight  in  proportion  to  their  sincerity  ? 

With  these  few  prefatory  words,  I  now  return  to  Bun- 
yan.  He  had  begun  to  go  regularly  to  church,  and  by 
church  he  meant  the  Church  of  England.  The  change  in 
the  constitution  of  it,  even  when  it  came,  did  not  much  al- 
ter its  practical  character  in  the  country  districts.  At  El- 
stow,  as  we  have  seen,  there  was  still  a  high  place ;  there 
was  still  a  liturgy ;  there  was  still  a  surplice.  The  Church 
of  England  is  a  compromise  between  the  old  theology  and 
the  new.  The  Bishops  have  the  apostolical  succession,  but 
many  of  them  disbelieve  that  they  derive  any  virtue  from 
it.  The  clergyman  is  either  a  priest  who  can  absolve  men 
from  sins,  or  he  is  a  minister,  as  in  other  Protestant  com- 
munions. The  sacraments  are  either  means  of  grace  or 
mere  outward  signs.  A  Christian  is  either  saved  by  bap- 
tism or  saved  by  faith,  as  he  pleases  to  believe.  In  either 
case  he  may  be  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England.  The 
effect  of  such  uncertain  utterances  is  to  leave  an  impres- 
sion that,  in  defining  such  points  closely,  theologians  are 
laying  down  lines  of  doctrines  about  subjects  of  which 
they  know  nothing,  that  the  real  truth  of  religion  lies  in 
what  is  common  to  the  two  theories,  the  obligation  to  lead 
a  moral  life ;  and  to  this  sensible  view  of  their  functions 


II.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN.  26 

the  bishops  and  clergy  had,  in  fact,  gradually  arrived  in  the 
last  century,  when  the  revival  of  what  is  called  earnestness, 
first  in  the  form  of  Evangelicalism,  and  then  of  Anglo-Ca- 
tholicism, awoke  again  the  old  controversies. 

To  a  man  of  fervid  temperament  suddenly  convinced 
of  sin,  incapable  of  being  satisfied  with  ambiguous  an- 
swers to  questions  which  mean  life  or  death  to  him,  the 
Church  of  England  has  little  to  say.  If  he  is  quiet  and 
reasonable,  he  finds  in  it  all  that  he  desires.  Enthusiastic 
ages  and  enthusiastical  temperaments  demand  something 
more  complete  and  consistent.  The  clergy  under  the 
Long  Parliament  caught  partially  the  tone  of  the  prevail- 
ing spirit.  The  reading  of  the  Book  of  Sports  had  been 
interdicted,  and  from  their  pulpits  they  lectured  their  con- 
gregations on  the  ungodliness  of  the  Sabbath  amusements. 
But  the  congregations  were  slow  to  listen,  and  the  sports 
went  on. 

One  Sunday  morning,  when  Bunyan  was  at  church  with 
his  wife,  a  sermon  was  delivered  on  this  subject.  It  seem- 
ed to  be  especially  addressed  to  himself,  and  it  much  af- 
fected him.  He  shook  off  the  impression,  and  after  din- 
ner he  went  as  usual  to  the  green.  He  was  on  the  point 
of  striking  at  a  ball  when  the  thought  rushed  across  his 
mind.  Wilt  thou  leave  thy  sins  and  go  to  heaven,  or  have 
thy  sins  and  go  to  hell  ?  He  looked  up.  The  refiection 
of  his  own  emotion  was  before  him  in  visible  form.  He 
imagined  that  he  saw  Christ  himself  looking  down  at  him 
from  the  sky.  But  he  concluded  that  it  was  too  late  for 
him  to  repent.  He  was  past  pardon.  He  was  sure  to  be 
damned,  and  he  might  as  well  be  damned  for  many  sins 
as  for  few.  Sin,  at  all  events,  was  pleasant,  the  only  pleas- 
ant thing  that  he  knew  ;  therefore  he  would  take  his  fill  of 
it.    The  sin  was  the  game,  and  nothing  but  the  game.    He 


2«  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

continued  to  play,  but  the  Puritan  sensitiveness  had  taken 
hold  of  him.  An  artificial  offence  had  become  a  real  of- 
fence when  his  conscience  was  wounded  by  it.  He  was 
reckless  and  desperate. 

"  This  temptation  of  the  devil,"  he  says, "  is  more  usual 
among  poor  creatures  than  many  are  aware  of.  It  contin- 
ued with  me  about  a  month  or  more ;  but  one  day,  as  I 
was  standing  at  a  neighbour's  shop-window,  and  there  curs- 
ing and  swearing  after  my  wonted  manner,  there  sat  with- 
in the  woman  of  the  house  and  heard  me,  who,  though  she 
was  a  loose  and  ungodly  wretch,  protested  that  I  swore 
and  cursed  at  such  a  rate  that  she  trembled  to  hear  me. 
I  was  able  to  spoil  all  the  youths  in  a  whole  town.  At 
this  reproof  I  was  silenced  and  put  to  secret  shame,  and 
that  too,  as  I  thought,  before  the  God  of  heaven.  I  stood 
hanging  down  my  head,  and  wishing  that  I  might  be  a 
little  child,  that  my  father  might  learn  me  to  speak  with- 
out this  wicked  sin  of  swearing ;  for,  thought  I,  I  am  so 
accustomed  to  it  that  it  is  vain  to  think  of  a  reforma. 
tion." 

These  words  have  been  sometimes  taken  as  a  reflection 
on  Bunyan's  own  father,  as  if  he  had  not  suflBciently 
checked  the  first  symptoms  of  a  bad  habit.  If  this  was 
so,  too  much  may  be  easily  made  of  it.  The  language  in 
the  homes  of  ignorant  workmen  is  seldom  select.  They 
have  not  a  large  vocabulary,  and  the  words  which  they  use 
do  not  mean  what  they  seem  to  mean.  But  so  sharp  and 
sudden  remorse  speaks  remarkably  for  Bunyan  himself. 
At  this  time  he  could  have  been  barely  twenty  years  old, 
and  already  he  was  quick  to  see  when  he  was  doing 
wrong,  to  be  sorry  for  it,  and  to  wish  that  he  could  do 
better.  Vain  the  effort  seemed  to  him,  yet  from  that 
moment  *'  he  did  leave  off  swearing,  to  his  own  great  won- 


n.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN.  27 

der ;"  and  he  found  "  that  he  could  speak  better  and  more 
pleasantly  than  he  did  before." 

It  lies  in  the  nature  of  human  advance  on  the  road  of 
improvement,  that,  whatever  be  a  man's  occupation,  be  it 
handicraft,  or  art,  or  knowledge,  or  moral  conquest  of  self, 
at  each  forward  step  which  he  takes  he  grows  more  con- 
scious of  his  shortcomings.  It  is  thus  with  his  whole  ca- 
reer, and  those  who  rise  highest  are  least  satisfied  with 
themselves.  Very  simply  Bunyan  tells  the  story  of  his 
progress.  On  his  outward  history,  on  his  business  and 
his  fortunes  with  it,  he  is  totally  silent.  Worldly  interests 
were  not  worth  mentioning.  He  is  solely  occupied  with 
his  rescue  from  spiritual  perdition.  Soon  after  he  had 
profited  by  the  woman's  rebuke,  he  fell  in  "  with  a  poor 
man  that  made  profession  of  religion  and  talked  pleasant- 
ly of  the  Scriptures."  Earnestness  in  such  matters  was 
growing  common  among  English  labourers.  Under  his 
new  friend's  example,  Bunyan  "  betook  him  to  the  Bible, 
and  began  to  take  great  pleasure  in  reading  it,"  but  espe- 
cially, as  he  admits  frankly  (and  most  people's  experience 
will  have  been  the  same),  "  the  historical  part ;  for  as  for 
St.  Paul's  Epistles  and  Scriptures  of  that  nature,  he  could 
not  away  with  them,  being  as  yet  ignorant  of  the  corrup- 
tion of  his  nature,  or  of  the  want  and  worth  of  Jesus  Christ 
to  save  him." 

Not  as  yet  understanding  these  mysteries,  he  set  him- 
self to  reform  his  life.  He  became  strict  with  himself  in 
word  and  deed.  "  He  set  the  Commandments  before  him 
■for  his  way  to  heaven."  "He  thought  if  he  could  but 
keep  them  pretty  well  he  should  have  comfort."  If  now 
and  then  he  broke  one  of  them,  he  suffered  in  conscience ; 
he  repented  of  his  fault ;  he  made  good  resolutions  for  the 
future,  and  struggled  to  carry  them  out.  "  His  neighbours 
0    2*  8 


38  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

took  him  to  be  a  new  man,  and  marvelled  at  the  alteration." 
Pleasure  of  any  kind,  even  the  most  innocent,  he  consid- 
ered to  be  a  snare  to  him,  and  he  abandoned  it.  He  had 
been  fond  of  dancing,  but  he  gave  it  up.  Music  and  sing- 
ing he  parted  with,  though  it  distressed  him  to  leave  them. 
Of  all  amusements,  that  in  which  he  had  most  delighted 
had  been  in  ringing  the  bells  in  Elstow  church  tower. 
With  his  bells  he  could  not  part  all  at  once.  He  would 
no  longer  ring  himself :  but  when  his  friends  were  enjoy- 
ing themselves  with  the  ropes,  he  could  not  help  going 
now  and  then  to  the  tower  door  to  look  on  and  listen; 
but  he  feared  at  last  that  the  steeple  might  fall  upon  him 
and  kill  him.  We  call  such  scruples  in  these  days  exag- 
gerated and  fantastic.  We  are  no  longer  in  danger  our- 
selves of  suffering  from  similar  emotions.  Whether  we 
are  the  better  for  having  got  rid  of  them  will  be  seen  in 
the  future  history  of  our  race. 

Notwithstanding  his  struggles  and  his  sacrifices,  Bunyan 
found  that  they  did  not  bring  him  the  peace  which  he  ex- 
pected. A  man  can  change  his  outward  conduct;  but  if 
he  is  in  earnest,  he  comes  in  sight  of  other  features  in  him- 
self which  he  cannot  change  so  easily — the  meannesses,  the 
paltrinesses,  the  selfishnesses  which  haunt  him  in  spite  of 
himself,  which  start  out  upon  him  at  moments  the  most 
unlooked  for,  which  taint  the  best  of  his  actions  and  make 
him  loathe  and  hate  himself.  Bunyan's  life  was  now,  for 
so  young  a  person,  a  model  of  correctness ;  but  he  had  no 
sooner  brought  his  actions  straight  than  he  discovered  that 
he  was  admiring  and  approving  of  himself.  No  situation 
is  more  humiliating,  none  brings  with  it  a  feeling  of  more 
entire  hopelessness.  "All  this  while,"  he  says,  "I  knew 
not  Christ,  nor  grace,  nor  faith,  nor  hope ;  and  had  I  then 
died,  my  state  had  been  most  fearful     I  was  but  a  poor 


n.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN.  29 

painted  hypocrite,  going  about  to  establish  my  own  right- 
eousness." 

Like  his  own  Pilgrim,  he  had  the  burden  on  his  back  of 
his  conscious  unworthiness.     How  was  he  to  be  rid  of  it? 

"  One  day,  in  a  street  in  Bedford,  as  he  was  at  work 
in  his  calling,  he  fell  in  with  three  or  four  poor  women  sit- 
ting at  a  door  in  the  sun  talking  about  the  things  of  God." 
He  was  himself  at  that  time  "  a  brisk  talker "  about  the 
matters  of  religion,  and  he  joined  these  women.  Their  ex- 
pressions were  wholly  unintelligible  to  him.  "They  were 
speaking  of  the  wretchedness  of  their  own  hearts,  of  their 
unbelief,  of  their  miserable  state.  They  did  contemn, 
slight,  and  abhor  their  own  righteousness  as  filthy  and  in- 
sufficient to  do  them  any  good.  They  spoke  of  a  new 
birth  and  of  the  work  of  God  in  their  hearts,  which  com- 
forted and  strengthened  them  against  the  temptations  of 
the  devil." 

The  language  of  the  poor  women  has  lost  its  old  mean- 
ing. They  themselves,  if  they  were  alive,  would  not  use 
it  any  longer.  The  conventional  phrases  of  Evangelical 
Christianity  ring  untrue  in  a  modern  ear  like  a  cracked 
bell.  We  have  grown  so  accustomed  to  them  as  a  cant, 
that  we  can  hardly  believe  that  they  ever  stood  for  sincere 
convictions.  Yet  these  forms  were  once  alive  with  the 
profoundest  of  all  moral  truths — a  truth  not  of  a  narrow 
theology,  but  which  lies  at  the  very  bottom  of  the  well,  at 
the  fountain-head  of  human  morality  ;  namely,  that  a  man 
who  would  work  out  his  salvation  must  cast  out  self, 
though  he  rend  his  heart-strings  in  doing  it ;  not  love  of 
self-indulgence  only,  but  self -applause,  self-confidence,  self- 
conceit  and  vanity,  desire  or  expectation  of  reward ;  self 
in  all  the  subtle  ingenuities  with  which  it  winds  about  the 
soul.     In  one  dialect  or  another,  he  must  recognize  that 


80  BUNTAN.  [chap. 

he  is  himself  a  poor  creature  not  worth  thinking  of,  or  he 
will  not  take  the  first  step  towards  excellence  in  any  single 
thing  which  he  undertakes. 

Bunyan  left  the  women  and  went  about  his  work,  but 
their  talk  went  with  him.  "He  was  greatly  affected." 
"  He  saw  that  he  wanted  the  true  tokens  of  a  godly  man." 
He  sought  them  out,  and  spoke  with  them  again  and 
again.  He  could  not  stay  away ;  and  the  more  he  went, 
the  more  he  questioned  his  condition. 

"  I  found  two  things,"  he  says,  "  at  which  I  did  some- 
times marvel,  considering  what  a  blind,  ungodly  wretch 
but  just  before  I  was ;  one,  a  great  softness  and  tenderness 
of  heart,  which  caused  me  to  fall  under  the  conviction  of 
what,  by  Scripture,  they  asserted ;  the  other,  a  great  bend- 
ing of  my  mind  to  a  continual  meditating  on  it.  My  mind 
was  now  like  a  horse-leech  at  the  vein,  still  crying,  Give, 
give ;  so  fixed  on  eternity  and  on  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
(though  I  knew  but  little),  that  neither  pleasure,  nor  profit, 
nor  persuasion,  nor  threats  could  loosen  it  or  make  it  let 
go  its  hold.  It  is  in  very  deed  a  certain  truth ;  it  would 
have  been  then  as  diflBcult  for  me  to  have  taken  my  mind 
from  heaven  to  earth,  as  I  have  found  it  often  since  to  get 
it  from  earth  to  heaven." 

Ordinary  persons  who  are  conscious  of  trying  to  do 
right,  who  resist  temptations,  are  sorry  when  they  slip, 
and  determine  to  be  more  on  their  guard  for  the  future, 
are  well  contented  with  the  condition  which  they  have 
reached.  They  are  respectable ;  they  are  right-minded  in 
common  things ;  they  fulfil  their  every-day  duties  to  their 
families  and  to  society  with  a  suflSciency  for  which  the 
world  speaks  well  of  them,  as  indeed  it  ought  to  speak; 
and  they  themselves  acquiesce  in  the  world's  verdict.  Any 
passionate  agitation  about  the  state  of  their  soula  they 


n.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN,  81 

consider  unreal  and  affected.  Such  men  may  be  amiable 
in  private  life,  good  neighbours,  and  useful  citizens ;  but 
be  their  talents  what'  they  may,  they  could  not  write  a 
Pilgrim's  Progress^  or  ever  reach  the  Delectable  Moun- 
tains, or  even  be  conscious  that  such  mountains  exist. 

Bunyan  was  on  the  threshold  of  the  higher  life.  He 
knew  that  he  was  a  very  poor  creature.  He  longed  to 
rise  to  something  better.  He  was  a  mere  ignorant,  un- 
taught mechanic.  He  had  not  been  to  school  with  Aris- 
totle and  Plato.  He  could  not  help  himself,  or  lose  him- 
self in  the  speculations  of  poets  and  philosophers.  He 
had  only  the  Bible,  and,  studying  the  Bible,  he  found  that 
the  wonder-working  power  in  man's  nature  was  Faith. 
Faith !  What  was  it ?  What  did  it  mean  ?  Had  he  faith  ? 
He  was  but  "a  poor  sot,"  and  yet  he  thought  that  he 
could  not  be  wholly  without  it.  The  Bible  told  him 
that  if  he  had  faith  as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  he  could 
work  miracles.  He  did  not  understand  Oriental  meta- 
phors ;  here  was  a  simple  test  which  could  be  at  once  ap- 
plied. 

"  One  day,"  he  writes,  "  as  I  was  between  Elstow  and 
Bedford,  the  temptation  was  hot  upon  me  to  try  if  I  had 
faith  by  doing  some  miracle.  I  must  say  to  the  puddles 
that  were  in  the  horse-pads,  "  be  dry,"  and  truly  at  one 
time  I  was  agoing  to  say  so  indeed.  But  just  as  I  was 
about  to  speak,  the  thought  came  into  my  mind :  Go  un- 
der yonder  hedge  first  and  pray  that  God  would  make  you 
able.  But  when  I  had  concluded  to  pray,  this  came  hot 
upon  me,  that  if  I  prayed  and  came  again  and  tried  to  do 
it,  and  yet  did  nothing  notwithstanding,  then  be  sure  I 
had  no  faith,  but  was  a  castaway,  and  lost.  Nay,  thought 
I,  if  it  be  so,  I  will  never  try  it  yet,  but  will  stay  a  little 
longer.     Thus  was  I  tossed  between  the  devil  and  my 


82  BUNTAN.  [chap, 

own  ignorance,  and  so  perplexed  at  some  times  that  I 
could  not  tell  what  to  do." 

Common-sense  will  call  this  disease,  and  will  think  im- 
patiently that  the  young  tinker  would  have  done  better 
to  attend  to  his  business.  But  it  must  be  observed  that 
Bunyan  was  attending  to  his  business,  toiling  all  the  while 
with  grimed  hands  over  his  pots  and  kettles.  No  one 
ever  complained  that  the  pots  and  kettles  were  ill-mended. 
It  was  merely  that,  being  simple-minded,  he  found  in  his 
Bible  that,  besides  earning  his  bread,  he  had  to  save  or 
lose  his  soul.  Having  no  other  guide,  he  took  its  words 
literally,  and  the  directions  puzzled  him. 

He  grew  more  and  more  unhappy,  more  lowly  in  his 
own  eyes — 

"  Wishing  him  like  to  those  more  rich  in  hope  "-. 

like  the  women  who  were  so  far  beyond  him  on  the  heav- 
enly road.  He  was  a  poet  without  knowing  it,  and  his 
gifts  only  served  to  perplex  him  further.  His  speculations 
assumed  bodily  forms  which  he  supposed  to  be  actual  vi- 
sions. He  saw  his  poor  friends  sitting  on  the  sunny  side 
of  a  high  mountain  refreshing  themselves  in  the  warmth, 
while  he  was  shivering  in  frost,  and  snow,  and  mist.  The 
mountain  was  surrounded  by  a  wall,  through  which  he 
tried  to  pass,  and  searched  long  in  vain  for  an  opening 
through  it.  At  last  he  found  one,  very  straight  and  nar- 
row, through  which  he  struggled,  after  desperate  efforts. 
"  It  showed  him,"  he  said,  "  that  none  could  enter  into  life 
but  those  who  were  in  downright  earnest,  and  unless  they 
left  the  wicked  world  behind  them;  for  here  was  only 
room  for  body  and  soul,  but  not  for  body  and  soul  and 
sin."  The  vision  brought  him  no  comfort,  for  it  passed 
away,  and  left  him  still  on  the  wrong  side :  a  little  com- 


n.]  CONVICTION  OF  SIN.  88 

fortable  self-conceit  would  have  set  him  at  rest.  But,  like 
all  real  men,  Bunyan  had  the  worst  opinion  of  himself. 
He  looked  at  his  Bible  again.  He  found  that  he  must 
be  elected.  Was  he  elected?  He  could  as  little  tell  as 
whether  he  had  faith.  He  knew  that  he  longed  to  be 
elected,  but  "  the  Scripture  trampled  on  his  desire ;"  for  it 
said,  "  It  is  not  of  him  that  willeth,  or  of  him  that  run- 
neth, but  of  God  that  sheweth  mercy ;"  therefore,  unless 
God  had  chosen  him,  his  labour  was  in  vain.  The  devil 
saw  his  opportunity ;  the  devil,  among  his  other  attributes, 
must  have  possessed  that  of  omnipresence ;  for  whenever 
any  human  soul  was  in  straits,  he  was  personally  at  hand 
to  take  advantage  of  it. 

"  It  may  be  that  you  are  not  elected,"  the  tempter  said 
to  Bunyan.  "  It  may  be  so  indeed,"  thought  he.  "  Why, 
then,"  said  Satan,  "  you  had  as  good  leave  off  and  strive 
no  farther ;  for  if,  indeed,  you  should  not  be  elected  and 
chosen  of  God,  there  is  no  talk  of  your  being  saved." 

A  comforting  text  suggested  itself.  **  Look  at  the  gen- 
erations of  old;  did  any  ever  trust  in  the  Lord  and  was 
confounded  ?"  But  these  exact  words,  unfortunately,  were 
only  to  be  found  in  the  Apocrypha.  And  there  was  a 
further  distressing  possibility,  which  has  occurred  to  others 
besides  Bunyan.  Perhaps  the  day  of  grace  was  passed. 
It  came  on  him  one  day  as  he  walked  in  the  country  that 
perhaps  those  good  people  in  Bedford  were  all  that  the 
Lord  would  save  in  those  parts,  and  that  he  came  too  late 
for  the  blessing.  True,  Christ  had  said,  "  Compel  them 
to  come  in,  for  yet  there  is  room."  It  might  be  "  that 
when  Christ  spoke  those  words,"  He  was  thinking  of  him 
— him  among  the  rest  that  he  had  chosen,  and  had  meant 
to  encourage  him.  But  Bunyan  was  too  simply  modest 
to  gather  comfort  from  such  aspiring  thoughts.     He  de- 


84  BUNYAN.  [chap,  n 

sired  to  be  converted,  craved  for  it,  longed  for  it  with  all 
his  heart  and  soul.  "  Could  it  have  been  gotten  for  gold," 
he  said,  "  what  would  I  not  have  given  for  it !  Had  I  had 
a  whole  world  it  had  all  gone  ten  thousand  times  over  for 
this,  that  my  soul  might  have  been  in  a  converted  state. 
But,  oh !  I  was  made  sick  by  that  saying  of  Christ :  *  He 
called  to  Him  whom  He  would,  and  they  came  to  Him.' 
I  feared  He  would  not  call  me." 

Election,  conversion,  day  of  grace,  coming  to  Christ, 
have  been  pawed  and  fingered  by  unctuous  hands  for  now 
two  hundred  years.  The  bloom  is  gone  from  the  flower. 
The  plumage,  once  shining  with  hues  direct  from  heaven, 
is  soiled  and  bedraggled.  The  most  solemn  of  all  realities 
have  been  degraded  into  the  passwords  of  technical  the- 
ology. In  Bunyan's  day,  in  camp  and  council  chamber, 
in  High  Courts  of  Parliament,  and  among  the  poor  drudges 
in  English  villages,  they  were  still  radiant  with  spiritual 
meaning.  The  dialect  may  alter ;  but  if  man  is  more  than 
a  brief  floating  bubble  on  the  eternal  river  of  time;  if 
there  be  really  an  immortal  part  of  him  which  need  not 
perish ;  and  if  his  business  on  earth  is  to  save  it  from  per- 
ishing— he  will  still  try  to  pierce  the  mountain  barrier; 
he  will  still  find  the  work  as  hard  as  Bunyan  found  it. 
We  live  in  days  of  progress  and  enlightenment ;  nature  on 
a  hundred  sides  has  unlocked  her  storehouses  of  knowl- 
edge. But  she  has  furnished  no  "  open  sesame  "  to  bid  the 
mountain  gate  fly  wide  which  leads  to  conquest  of  self. 
There  is  still  no  passage  there  for  "  body  and  soul  and  sin." 


CHAPTER  IIT. 
"gkacb  abounding." 

The  women  in  Bedford,  to  whom  Bunyan  had  opened  hig 
mind,  had  been  naturally  interested  in  him.  Young  and 
rough  as  he  was,  he  could  not  have  failed  to  impress  any- 
one who  conversed  with  him  with  a  sense  that  he  was  a 
remarkable  person.  They  mentioned  him  to  Mr.  Gifford, 
the  minister  of  the  Baptist  Church  at  Bedford.  John 
Gifford  had,  at  the  beginning  of  the  Civil  War,  been  a 
loose  young  oflScer  in  the  Mug's  army.  He  had  been 
taken  prisoner  when  engaged  in  some  exploit  which  was 
contrary  to  the  usages  of  war.  A  court-martial  had  sen- 
tenced him  to  death,  and  he  was  to  have  been  shot  in  a 
few  hours,  when  he  broke  out  of  his  prison  with  his  sis- 
ter's help,  and,  after  various  adventures,  settled  at  Bedford 
as  a  doctor.  The  near  escape  had  not  sobered  him.  He 
led  a  disorderly  life,  drinking  and  gambling,  till  the  loss 
of  a  large  sum  of  money  startled  him  into  seriousness. 
In  the  language  of  the  time,  he  became  convinced  of  sin, 
and  joined  the  Baptists,  the  most  thorough-going  and  con- 
sistent of  all  the  Protestant  sects.  If  the  Sacrament  of 
Baptism  is  not  a  magical  form,  but  is  a  personal  act,  in 
which  the  baptised  person  devotes  himself  to  Christ's  ser- 
vice, to  baptise  children  at  an  age  when  they  cannot  under- 
stand what  they  are  doing  may  well  seem  irrational  and 
even  impious. 


86  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

Gifford,  who  was  now  the  head  of  the  Baptist  commu- 
nity in  the  town,  invited  Bunyan  to  his  house,  and  ex- 
plained the  causes  of  his  distress  to  him.  He  was  a  lost 
sinner.  It  was  true  that  he  had  parted  with  his  old  faults, 
and  was  leading  a  new  life.  But  his  heart  was  unchanged ; 
his  past  offences  stood  in  record  against  him.  He  was 
still  under  the  wrath  of  God,  miserable  in  his  position,  and 
therefore  miserable  in  mind.  He  must  become  sensible 
of  his  lost  state,  and  lay  hold  of  the  only  remedy,  or  there 
was  no  hope  for  him. 

There  was  no  diflBculty  in  convincing  Bunyan  that  he 
was  in  a  bad  way.  He  was  too  well  aware  of  it  already. 
In  a  work  of  fiction,  the  conviction  would  be  foUowed  im- 
mediately by  consoling  grace.  In  the  actual  experience 
of  a  living  human  soul,  the  medicine  operates  less  pleas- 
antly. 

"  I  began,"  he  says,  "  to  see  something  of  the  vanity 
and  inward  wretchedness  of  my  wicked  heart,  for  as  yet 
I  knew  no  great  matter  therein.  But  now  it  began  to  be 
discovered  unto  me,  and  to  work  for  wickedness  as  it  never 
did  before.  Lusts  and  corruptions  would  strongly  put 
themselves  forth  within  me  in  wicked  thoughts  and  de- 
sires which  I  did  not  regard  before.  Whereas,  before,  my 
soul  was  full  of  longing  after  God ;  now  my  heart  began 
to  hanker  after  every  foolish  vanity." 

Constitutions  difEer.  Mr.  Gifford's  treatment,  if  it  was 
ever  good  for  any  man,  was  too  sharp  for  Bunyan.  The 
fierce  acid  which  had  been  poured  into  his  wounds  set  them 
all  festering  again.  He  frankly  admits  that  he  was  now 
farther  from  conversion  than  before.  His  heart,  do  what 
he  would,  refused  to  leave  off  desiring  forbidden  pleasures, 
and  while  this  continued,  he  supposed  that  he  was  still 
under  the  law,  and  must  perish  by  it.     He  compared  him- 


m.]  GRACE  ABOUNDING."  87 

self  to  the  child  who,  as  he  was  being  brought  to  Christ, 
was  thrown  down  by  the  devil  and  wallowed  foaming.  A 
less  healthy  nature  might  have  been  destroyed  by  these 
artificially  created  and  exaggerated  miseries.  He  sup- 
posed he  was  given  over  to  unbelief  and  wickedness,  and 
yet  he  relates,  with  touching  simplicity : — 

"As  to  the  act  of  sinning  I  was  never  more  tender  than 
now.  I  durst  not  take  up  a  pin  or  a  stick,  though  but  so 
big  as  a  straw,  for  my  conscience  now  was  sore,  and  would 
smart  at  every  touch.  I  could  not  tell  how  to  speak  my 
words  for  fear  I  should  misplace  them." 

But  the  care  with  which  he  watched  his  conduct  availed 
him  nothing.  He  was  on  a  morass  "  that  shook  if  he  did 
but  stir,"  and  he  was  "  there  left  both  of  God,  and  Christ, 
and  the  Spirit,  and  of  all  good  things."  Behind  him  lay 
the  faults  of  his  childhood  and  youth,  every  one  of  which 
he  believed  to  be  recorded  against  him.  Within  were 
his  disobedient  inclinations,  which  he  conceived  to  be  the 
presence  of  the  devil  in  his  heart.  K  he  was  to  be  pre- 
sented clean  of  stain  before  God  he  must  have  a  perfect 
righteousness,  which  was  to  be  found  only  in  Christ,  and 
Christ  had  rejected  him.  "  My  original  and  inward  pollu- 
tion," he  writes, "  was  my  plague  and  my  affliction.  I  was 
more  loathsome  in  my  own  eyes  than  was  a  toad,  and  I 
thought  I  was  so  in  God's  eyes  too.  I  thought  every  one 
had  a  better  heart  than  I  had.  I  could  have  changed  heart 
with  anybody.  I  thought  none  but  the  devil  himself 
could  equal  me  for  inward  wickedness  and  pollution. 
Sure,  thought  I,  I  am  given  up  to  the  devil  and  to  a  rep- 
robate mind ;  and  thus  I  continued  for  a  long  while,  even 
for  some  years  together." 

And  all  the  while  the  world  went  on  so  quietly;  these 
things  over  which  Bunyan  was  so  miserable  not  seeming 


88  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

to  trouble  anyone  except  himself ;  and  as  if  they  had  no 
existence  except  on  Sundays  and  in  pious  talk  Old  peo- 
ple were  hunting  after  the  treasures  of  this  life,  as  if  they 
were  never  to  leave  the  earth.  Professors  of  religion 
complained  when  they  lost  fortune  or  health ;  what  were 
fortune  and  health  to  the  awful  possibilities  which  lay 
beyond  the  grave?  To  Bunyan  the  future  life  of  Chris- 
tianity was  a  reality  as  certain  as  the  next  day's  sunrise ; 
and  he  could  have  been  happy  on  bread  and  water  if  he 
could  have  felt  himself  prepared  to  enter  it  Every  cre- 
ated being  seemed  better  oflE  than  he  was.  He  was  sorry 
that  God  had  made  him  a  man.  He  "  blessed  the  condi- 
tion of  the  birds,  beasts,  and  fishes,  for  they  had  not  a 
sinful  nature.  They  were  not  obnoxious  to  the  wrath  of 
God ;  they  were  not  to  go  to  hell-fire  after  death."  He 
recalled  the  texts  which  spoke  of  Christ  and  foi^veness. 
He  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  Christ  cared  for  him. 
He  could  have  talked  of  Christ's  love  and  mercy  "  even  to 
the  very  crows  which  sat  on  the  ploughed  land  before 
him."  But  he  was  too  sincere  to  satisfy  himself  with 
formulas  and  phrases.  He  could  not,  he  would  not,  pro- 
fess to  be  convinced  that  things  would  go  well  with  him 
when  he  was  not  convinced.  Cold  spasms  of  doubt  laid 
hold  of  him — doubts,  not  so  much  of  his  own  salvation, 
as  of  the  truth  of  all  that  he  had  been  taught  to  believe ; 
and  the  problem  had  to  be  fought  and  grappled  with, 
which  lies  in  the  intellectual  nature  of  every  genuine  man, 
whether  he  be  an  -^schylus  or  a  Shakspeare,  or  a  poor 
working  Bedfordshire  mechanic.  No  honest  soul  can 
look  out  upon  the  world  and  see  it  as  it  really  is,  without 
the  question  rising  in  him  whether  there  be  any  God  that 
governs  it  at  all.  No  one  can  accept  the  popular  notion 
of  heaven  and  hell  as  actually  true,  without  being  as  ter* 


m]  *    "GRACE  ABOUNDING."  89 

rifled  as  Bunyan  was.  We  go  on  as  we  do,  and  attend  to 
our  business  and  enjoy  ourselves,  because  the  words  have 
no  real  meaning  to  us.  Providence  in  its  kindness  leaves 
most  of  us  unblessed  or  un cursed  with  natures  of  too  fine 
a  fibre. 

Bunyan  was  hardly  dealt  with.  "  Whole  floods  of  blas- 
phemies," he  says,  "  against  God,  Christ,  and  the  Script- 
ures were  poured  upon  my  spirit;  questions  against  the 
very  being  of  God  and  of  his  only  beloved  Son,  as  whether 
there  was  in  truth  a  God  or  Christ,  or  no,  and  whether  the 
Holy  Scriptures  were  not  rather  a  fable  and  cunning  story 
than  the  holy  and  pure  Word  of  God." 

"  How  can  you  tell,"  the  tempter  whispered,  "  but  that 
the  Turks  have  as  good  a  Scripture  to  prove  their  Ma- 
homet the  Saviour,  as  we  have  to  prove  our  Jesus  is? 
Could  I  think  that  so  many  tens  of  thousands,  in  so  many 
countries  and  kingdoms,  should  be  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  right  way  to  heaven,  if  there  were  indeed  a  heaven, 
and  that  we  who  lie  in  a  comer  of  the  earth  should  alone 
be  blessed  therewith  ?  Every  one  doth  think  his  own  re- 
ligion the  rightest — both  Jews,  Moors,  and  Pagans ;  and 
how  if  all  our  faith,  and  Christ,  and  Scripture  should  be 
but  '  a  think  so '  too  ?"  St.  Paul  spoke  positively.  Bun- 
yan saw  shrewdly  that  on  St.  Paul  the  weight  of  the  whole 
Christian  theory  really  rested.  But  "how  could  he  tell 
but  that  St.  Paul,  being  a  subtle  and  cunning  man,  might 
give  himself  up  to  deceive  with  strong  delusions  ?"  "  He 
was  carried  away  by  such  thoughts  as  by  a  whirlwind." 

His  belief  in  the  active  agency  of  the  devil  in  human 
affairs,  of  which  he  supposed  that  he  had  witnessed  in- 
stances, was  no  doubt  a  great  help  to  him.  If  he  could 
have  imagined  that  his  doubts  or  misgivings  had  been  sug- 
gested by  a  desire  for  truth,  they  would  have  been  harder 


40  BFNYAN.  [chap. 

to  bear.  More  than  ever  he  was  convinced  that  he  was 
possessed  by  the  devil.  He  "  compared  himself  to  a  child 
carried  off  by  a  gipsy."  "  Kick  sometimes  I  did,"  he  says, 
"  and  scream,  and  cry,  but  yet  I  was  as  bound  in  the 
wings  of  temptation,  and  the  wind  would  bear  me  away." 
"  I  blessed  the  dog  and  toad,  and  counted  the  condition 
of  everything  that  God  had  made  far  better  than  this 
dreadful  state  of  mine.  The  dog  or  horse  had  no  soul  to 
perish  under  the  everlasting  weight  of  hell  for  sin,  as  mine 
was  like  to  do." 

Doubts  about  revelation  and  the  truth  of  Scripture  were 
more  easy  to  encounter  then  than  they  are  at  present. 
Bunyan  was  protected  by  want  of  learning,  and  by  a 
powerful  predisposition  to  find  the  objections  against  the 
credibility  of  the  Gospel  history  to  be  groundless.  Crit- 
ical investigation  had  not  as  yet  analysed  the  historical 
construction  of  the  sacred  books ;  and  scepticism,  as  he  saw 
it  in  people  round  him,  did  actually  come  from  the  devil ; 
that  is,  from  a  desire  to  escape  the  moral  restraints  of  re- 
ligion. The  wisest,  noblest,  best  instructed  men  in  Eng- 
land at  that  time  regarded  the  Bible  as  an  authentic  com- 
munication from  God,  and  as  the  only  foundation  for  law 
and  civil  society.  The  masculine  sense  and  strong,  modest 
intellect  of  Bunyan  ensured  his  acquiescence  in  an  opin- 
ion so  powerfully  supported.  Fits  of  uncertainty  recur- 
red even  to  the  end  of  his  life;  it  must  be  so  with  men 
who  are  honestly  in  earnest ;  but  his  doubts  were  of  course 
only  intermittent,  and  hie  judgment  was  in  the  main  sat- 
isfied that  the  Bible  was,  as  he  had  been  taught,  the  Word 
of  God.  This,  however,  helped  him  little ;  for  in  the 
Bible  he  read  his  own  condemnation.  The  weight  which 
pressed  him  down  was  the  sense  of  his  unworthiness. 
What  was  he  that  God  should  care  for  him  ?     He  fancied 


nt]  "GRACE  ABOUNDING."  41 

that  he  heard  God  saying  to  the  angels,  "This  poor, 
simple  wretch  doth  hanker  after  me,  as  if  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with  my  mercy  but  to  bestow  it  on  such  as  he. 
Poor  fool,  how  art  thou  deceived !  It  is  not  for  such  as 
thee  to  have  favour  with  the  Highest." 

Miserable  as  he  was,  he  clung  to  his  misery  as  the  one 
link  which  connected  him  with  the  object  of  his  longings. 
If  he  had  no  hope  of  heaven,  he  was  at  least  distracted 
that  he  must  lose  it.  He  was  afraid  of  dying,  yet  he  was 
still  more  afraid  of  continuing  to  live ;  lest  the  impression 
should  wear  away  through  time,  and  occupation  and  other 
interests  should  turn  his  heart  away  to  the  world,  and  thus 
his  wounds  might  cease  to  pain  him. 

Readers  of  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  sometimes  ask 
with  wonder,  why,  after  Christian  had  been  received  into 
the  narrow  gate,  and  had  been  set  forward  upon  his  way, 
so  many  trials  and  dangers  still  lay  before  him.  The  an- 
swer is  simply  that  Christian  was  a  pilgrim,  that  the  jour- 
ney of  life  still  lay  before  him,  and  at  every  step  temp- 
tations would  meet  him  in  new,  unexpected  shapes.  St. 
Anthony  in  his  hermitage  was  beset  by  as  many  fiends  as 
had  ever  troubled  him  when  in  the  world.  Man's  spirit- 
ual existence  is  like  the  flight  of  a  bird  in  the  air;  he  is 
sustained  only  by  effort,  and  when  he  ceases  to  exert  him- 
self he  falls.  There  are  intervals,  however,  of  comparative 
calm,  and  to  one  of  these  the  storm-tossed  Bunyan  was 
now  approaching.  He  had  passed  through  the  Slough  of 
Despond.  He  had  gone  astray  after  Mr.  Legality,  and  the 
rocks  had  almost  overwhelmed  him.  Evangelist  now  found 
him  and  put  him  right  again,  and  he  was  to  be  allowed 
a  breathing  space  at  the  Interpreter's  house.  As  he  was 
at  his  ordinary  daily  work,  his  mind  was  restlessly  busy. 
Verses  of  Scripture  came  into  his  head,  sweet  while  pres- 


42  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

ent,  but,  like  Peter's  sheet,  caught  up  again  into  heaven. 
We  may  have  heard  all  our  lives  of  Christ.  Words  and 
ideas  with  which  we  have  been  familiar  from  childhood 
are  trodden  into  paths  as  barren  as  sand.  Suddenly,  we 
know  not  how,  the  meaning  flashes  upon  us.  The  seed 
has  found  its  way  into  some  corner  of  our  minds  where 
it  can  germinate.  The  shell  breaks,  the  cotyledons  open, 
and  the  plant  of  faith  is  alive.  So  it  was  now  to  be  with 
Bunyan. 

"  One  day,"  he  says,  "  as  I  was  travelling  into  the  coun- 
try, musing  on  the  wickedness  of  my  heart,  and  consider- 
ing the  enmity  that  was  in  me  to  God,  the  Scripture  came 
into  my  mind,  *  He  hath  made  peace  through  the  blood  of 
His  cross.'  I  saw  that  the  justice  of  God  and  my  sinful 
soul  could  embrace  and  kiss  each  other.  I  was  ready  to 
swoon,  not  with  grief  and  trouble,  but  with  solid  joy  and 
peace."  Everything  became  clear :  the  Gospel  history,  the 
birth,  the  life,  the  death  of  the  Saviour ;  how  gently  he 
gave  himself  to  be  nailed  on  the  cross  for  his  (Bunyan's) 
sins.  "  I  saw  Him  in  the  spirit,"  he  goes  on,  "  a  Man  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  Father,  pleading  for  me,  and  have 
seen  the  manner  of  His  coming  from  heaven  to  judge  the 
world  with  glory." 

The  sense  of  guilt  which  had  so  oppressed  him  was  now 
a  key  to  the  mystery.  "  God,"  he  says,  "  suffered  me  to 
be  afflicted  with  temptations  concerning  these  things,  and 
then  revealed  them  to  me."  He  was  crushed  to  the  ground 
by  the  thought  of  his  wickedness ;  "  the  Lord  showed  him 
the  death  of  Christ,  and  lifted  the  weight  away." 

Now  he  thought  he  had  a  personal  evidence  from  heav- 
en that  he  was  really  saved.  Before  this,  he  had  lain 
trembling  at  the  mouth  of  hell ;  now  he  was  so  far  away 
from  it  that  he  could  scarce  tell  where  it  was.    He  fell  in 


ni.]  "GRACE  ABOUNDING."  48 

at  this  time  with  a  copy  of  Luther's  commentary  on  the 
Epistle  to  the  Galatians,  "  so  old  that  it  was  like  to  fall  to 
pieces."  Banyan  found  in  it  the  exact  counterpart  of  his 
own  experience :  "  of  all  the  books  that  he  had  ever  met 
with,  it  seemed  to  him  the  most  fit  for  a  wounded  con- 
science." 

Everything  was  supernatural  with  him :  when  a  bad 
thought  came  into  his  mind,  it  was  the  devil  that  put  it 
there.  These  breathings  of  peace  he  regarded  as  the  im- 
mediate voice  of  his  Saviour.  Alas !  the  respite  was  but 
short.  He  had  hoped  that  his  troubles  were  over,  when 
the  tempter  came  back  upon  him  in  the  most  extraordi- 
nary form  which  he  had  yet  assumed.  Bunyan  had  him- 
self left  the  door  open ;  the  evil  spirits  could  only  enter 
"  Mansoul "  through  the  owner's  negligence,  but  once  in, 
they  could  work  their  own  wicked  will.  How  it  happened 
will  be  told  afterwards.  The  temptation  itself  must  be 
described  first.  Never  was  a  nature  more  perversely  in- 
genious in  torturing  itself. 

He  had  gained  Christ,  as  he  called  it.  He  was  now 
tempted  "  to  sell  and  part  with  this  most  blessed  Christ,  to 
exchange  Him  for  the  things  of  this  life — for  anything." 
If  there  had  been  any  real  prospect  of  worldly  advantage 
before  Bunyan,  which  he  could  have  gained  by  abandoning 
his  religious  profession,  the  words  would  have  had  a  mean- 
ing ;  but  there  is  no  hint  or  trace  of  any  prospect  of  the 
kind;  nor  in  Bunyan's  position  could  there  have  been. 
The  temptation,  as  he  called  it,  was  a  freak  of  fancy :  fan- 
cy resenting  the  minuteness  with  which  he  watched  his 
own  emotions.  And  yet  he  says,  *'  It  lay  upon  me  for  a 
year,  and  did  follow  me  so  continually  that  I  was  not  rid 
of  it  one  day  in  a  month,  sometimes  not  an  hour  in  many 
days  together,  unless  when  I  was  asleep.  I  could  neither 
D     3  4 


44  BTJNYAN.  [chap. 

eat  my  food,  stoop  for  a  pin,  chop  a  stick,  or  cast  my  eye 
to  look  on  this  or  that,  but  still  the  temptation  would 
come,  '  Sell  Christ  for  this,  sell  Him  for  that  1  Sell  Him ! 
Sell  Him !' " 

He  had  been  haunted  before  with  a  notion  that  he  was 
under  a  spell ;  that  he  had  been  fated  to  commit  the  un- 
pardonable sin ;  and  he  was  now  thinking  of  Judas,  who 
had  been  admitted  to  Christ's  intimacy,  and  had  then 
betrayed  him.  Here  it  was  before  him — the  very  thing 
which  he  had  so  long  dreaded.  If  his  heart  did  but  con- 
sent for  a  moment,  the  deed  was  done.  His  doom  had 
overtaken  him.  He  wrestled  with  the  thought  as  it  rose, 
thrust  it  from  him  "  with  his  hands  and  elbows,"  body  and 
mind  convulsed  together  in  a  common  agony.  As  fast  as 
the  destroyer  said,  "  Sell  Him,"  Bunyan  said,  "  I  will  not ; 
I  will  not ;  I  will  not ;  not  for  thousands,  thousands,  thou- 
sands of  worlds !"  One  morning,  as  he  lay  in  his  bed,  the 
voice  came  again,  and  would  not  be  driven  away.  Bunyan 
fought  against  it  till  he  was  out  of  breath.  He  fell  back 
exhausted,  and,  without  conscious  action  of  his  will,  the 
fatal  sentence  passed  through  his  brain, "  Let  Him  go  if 
He  will." 

That  the  "selling  Christ"  was  a  bargain  in  which  he 
was  to  lose  all  and  receive  nothing  is  evident  from  the 
form  in  which  he  was  overcome.  Yet,  if  he  had  gained  a 
fortune  by  fraud  or  forgery,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
certain  that  he  had  destroyed  himself. 

Satan  had  won  the  battle,  and  he,  "  as  a  bird  shot  from 
a  tree,  had  fallen  into  guilt  and  despair."  He  got  out  of 
bed,  "and  went  moping  into  the  fields,"  where  he  wander- 
ed for  two  hours,  "  as  a  man  bereft  of  life,  and  now  past 
recovering,"  "bound  over  to  eternal  punishment."  He 
shrank  under  the  hedges,  "  in  guilt  and  sorrow,  bemoan- 


III.]  "GRACE  ABOUNDING."  4S 

ing  the  liardness  of  his  fate,"  In  vain  the  words  now 
came  back  that  had  so  comforted  him,  "The  blood  of 
Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin."  They  had  no  application 
to  him.  He  had  acquired  his  birthright,  but,  like  Esau, 
he  had  sold  it,  and  could  not  any  more  find  place  for  re- 
pentance. True,  it  was  said  that  "all  manner  of  sins  and 
blasphemies  should  be  forgiven  unto  men,"  but  only  such 
sins  and  blasphemies  as  had  been  committed  in  the  natural 
state.  Bunyan  had  received  grace,  and,  after  receiving  it, 
had  sinned  against  the  Holy  Ghost. 

It  was  done,  and  nothing  could  undo  it.  David  had 
received  grace,  and  had  committed  murder  and  adultery 
after  it.  But  murder  and  adultery,  bad  as  they  might 
be,  were  only  transgressions  of  the  law  of  Moses.  Bunyan 
had  sinned  against  the  Mediator  himself ;  "  he  had  sold  his 
Saviour."  One  sin,  and  only  one,  there  was  which  could 
not  be  pardoned,  and  he  had  been  guilty  of  it.  Peter  had 
sinned  against  grace,  and  even  after  he  had  been  warned. 
Peter,  however,  had  but  denied  his  Master.  Bunyan  had 
sold  him.  He  was  no  David  or  Peter,  he  was  Judas.  It 
was  very  hard.  Others  naturally  as  bad  as  he  had  been 
saved.  Why  had  he  been  picked  out  to  be  made  a  Son 
of  Perdition  ?  A  Judas !  Was  there  any  point  in  which 
he  was  better  than  Judas?  Judas  had  sinned  with  delib- 
erate purpose :  he  *'  in  a  fearful  hurry,"  and  "  against 
prayer  and  striving."  But  there  might  be  more  ways 
than  one  of  committing  the  unpardonable  sin,  and  there 
might  be  degrees  of  it.  It  was  a  dreadful  condition.  The 
old  doubts  came  back. 

"  I  was  now  ashamed,"  he  says,  "  that  I  should  be  like 
such  an  ugly  man  as  Judas.  I  thought  how  loathsome  I 
should  be  to  all  the  saints  at  the  Day  of  Judgment.  I 
was  tempted  to  content  myself  by  receiving  some  false 


46  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

opinion,  as  that  there  should  be  no  such  thing  as  the  Day 
of  Judgment,  that  we  should  not  rise  again,  that  sin  was  no 
such  grievous  thing,  the  tempter  suggesting  that  if  these 
things  should  be  indeed  true,  yet  to  believe  otherwise  would 
yield  me  ease  for  the  present.  If  I  must  perish,  I  need 
not  torment  myself  beforehand." 

Judas !  Judas !  was  now  for  ever  before  his  eyes.  So 
identified  he  was  with  Judas  that  he  felt  at  times  as  if  his 
breastbone  was  bursting.  A  mark  like  Cain's  was  on  him. 
In  vain  he  searched  again  through  the  catalogue  of  par- 
doned sinners.  Manasseh  had  consulted  wizards  and  fa- 
miliar spirits.  Manasseh  had  burnt  his  children  in  the  fire 
to  devils.  He  had  found  mercy  ;  but,  alas !  Manasseh's 
sins  had  nothing  of  the  nature  of  selling  the  Saviour.  To 
have  sold  the  Saviour  "  was  a  sin  bigger  than  the  sins  of 
a  country,  of  a  kingdom,  or  of  the  whole  world — not  all 
of  them  together  could  equal  it." 

His  brain  was  overstrained,  it  will  be  said.  Very  likely. 
It  is  to  be  remembered,  however,  who  and  what  he  was, 
and  that  he  had  overstrained  it  iu  his  eagerness  to  learn 
what  he  conceived  his  Maker  to  wish  him  to  be — a  form 
of  anxiety  not  common  in  this  world.  The  cure  was  as 
remarkable  as  the  disorder.  One  day  he  was  "  in  a  good 
man's  shop,"  still  "  afflicting  himself  with  self-abhorrence," 
when  something  seemed  to  rush  in  through  an  open  win- 
dow, and  he  heard  a  voice  saying,  "  Didst  ever  refuse  to 
be  justified  by  the  blood  of  Christ  ?"  Bunyan  shared  the 
belief  of  his  time.  He  took  the  system  of  things  as  the 
Bible  represented  it;  but  his  strong  common  sense  put 
bim  on  his  guard  against  being  easily  credulous.  He 
thought  at  the  time  that  the  voice  was  supernatural.  Af- 
ter twenty  years  he  said,  modestly,  that  he  "  could  not  make 
a  judgment  of  it."     The  effect,  any  way,  was  as  if  an  an* 


m.]  "GRACE  ABOUNDING."  47 

gel  had  come  to  him  and  had  told  him  that  there  was  still 
hope.  Hapless  as  his  condition  was,  he  might  still  pray 
for  mercy,  and  might  possibly  find  it.  He  tried  to  pray, 
and  found  it  very  hard.  The  devil  whispered  again  that 
God  was  tired  of  him ;  God  wanted  to  be  rid  of  him  and 
his  importunities,  and  had,  therefore,  allowed  him  to  com- 
mit this  particular  sin  that  he  might  hear  no  more  of  him. 
He  remembered  Esau,  and  thought  that  this  might  be 
too  true:  "the  saying  about  Esau  was  a  flaming  sword 
barring  the  way  of  the  tree  of  life  to  him."  Still  he  would 
not  give  in.  "  I  can  but  die,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  and  if 
it  must  be  so,  it  shall  be  said  that  such  an  one  died  at  the 
feet  of  Christ  in  prayer." 

He  was  torturing  himself  with  illusions.  Most  of  the 
saints  in  the  Catholic  Calendar  have  done  the  same.  The 
most  remorseless  philosopher  can  hardly  refuse  a  certain 
admiration  for  this  poor  uneducated  village  lad  struggling 
so  bravely  in  the  theological  spider's  web.  The  "  Profess- 
ors "  could  not  comfort  him,  having  never  experienced 
similar  distresses  in  their  own  persons.  He  consulted  "  an 
Antient  Christian,"  telling  him  that  he  feared  that  he  had 
sinned  against  the  Holy  Ghost.  The  Antient  Christian 
answered  gravely  that  he  thought  so  too.  The  devil  hav- 
ing him  at  advantage,  began  to  be  witty  with  him.  The 
devil  suggested  that,  as  he  had  offended  the  second  or 
third  Person  of  the  Trinity,  he  had  better  pray  the  Father 
to  mediate  for  him  with  Christ  and  the  Holy  Spirit.  Then 
the  devil  took  another  turn.  Christ,  he  said,  was  really 
sorry  for  Bunyan,  but  his  case  was  beyond  remedy.  Bun- 
yan's  sin  was  so  peculiar,  that  it  was  not  of  the  nature  of 
those  for  which  He  had  bled  and  died,  and  had  not,  there- 
fore, been  laid  to  His  charge.  To  justify  Bunyan  he  must 
come  down  and  die  again,  and  that  was  not  to  be  thought 


48  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

of.  "  Oh !"  exclaimed  the  unfortunate  victim,  "  the  un- 
thought-of  imaginations,  frights,  fears,  and  terrors  that  are 
effected  by  a  thorough  application  of  guilt  (to  a  spirit) 
that  is  yielded  to  desperation.  This  is  the  man  that  hath 
bis  dwelling  among  the  tombs." 

.  Sitting  in  this  humour  on  a  settle  in  the  street  at  Bed- 
ford, he  was  pondering  over  his  fearful  state.  The  sun  in 
heaven  seemed  to  grudge  its  light  to  him.  "  The  stones 
in  the  street  and  the  tiles  on  the  houses  did  bend  them- 
selves against  him."  Each  crisis  in  Bunyan's  mind  is  al- 
ways framed  in  the  picture  of  some  spot  where  it  occurred. 
He  was  crying,  "  in  the  bitterness  of  his  soul.  How  can 
God  comfort  such  a  wretch  as  I  am  ?"  As  before,  in  the 
^op,  a  voice  came  in  answer, "  This  sin  is  not  unto  death." 
The  first  voice  had  brought  him  hope,  which  was  almost 
extinguished ;  the  second  was  a  message  of  life.  The 
night  was  gone,  and  it  was  daylight.  He  had  come  to  the 
end  of  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  and  the  spec- 
tres and  the  hobgoblins  which  had  jibbered  at  him  sud- 
denly all  vanished.  A  moment  before  he  had  supposed 
that  he  was  out  of  reach  of  pardon — that  he  had  no  right 
ip  pray,  no  right  to  repent,  or,  at  least,  that  neither  prayer 
nor  repentance  could  profit  him.  If  his  sin  was  not  to 
^eath,  then  he  was  on  the  same  ground  as  other  sinners. 
Jf  they  might  pray,  he  might  pray,  and  might  look  to  be 
forgiven  on  the  same  terms.  He  still  saw  that  his  "  sell- 
jpg  Christ"  had  been  "most  barbarous,"  but  despair  was 
followed  by  an  extravagance,  no  less  unbounded,  of  grati- 
tude, when  he  felt  that  Christ  would  pardon  even  this. 
*,  "  Love  and  affection  for  Christ,"  he  says,  "  did  work  at 
this  time  such  a  strong  and  hot  desire  of  revengement 
upon  myself  for  the  abuse  I  had  done  to  Him,  that,  to 
speak  as  then  I  thought,  had  I  had  a  thousand  gallons  of 


in.]  "GRACE  ABOUNDING."  49 

blood  in  my  veins,  I  could  freely  have  spilt  it  all  at  the 
command  of  my  Lord  and  Saviour.  The  tempter  told  me 
it  was  vain  to  pray.  Yet,  thought  I,  I  will  pray.  But, 
said  the  tempter,  your  sin  is  unpardonable.  Well,  said 
I,  I  will  pray.  It  is  no  boot,  said  he.  Yet,  said  I,  I  will 
pray ;  so  I  went  to  prayer,  and  I  uttered  words  to  this 
effect :  Lord,  Satan  tells  me  that  neither  Thy  mercy  nor 
Christ's  blood  is  suflScient  to  save  my  soul.  Lord,  shall  I 
honour  Thee  most  by  believing  that  Thou  wilt  and  canst, 
or  him,  by  believing  that  Thou  neither  wilt  nor  canst  ? 
Lord,  I  would  fain  honour  Thee  by  believing  that  Thou 
wilt  and  canst.  As  I  was  there  before  the  Lord,  the 
Scripture  came,  Oh !  man,  great  is  thy  faith,  even  as  if 
one  had  clapped  me  on  the  back." 

The  waves  had  not  wholly  subsided;  but  we  need  not 
follow  the  undulations  any  farther.  It  is  enough  that  af- 
ter a  "  conviction  of  sin,"  considerably  deeper  than  most 
people  find  necessary  for  themselves,  Bunyan  had  come 
to  realize  what  was  meant  by  salvation  in  Christ,  accord- 
ing to  the  received  creed'  of  the  contemporary  Protestant 
world.  The  intensity  of  his  emotions  arose  only  from  the 
completeness  with  which  he  believed  it.  Man  had  sinned, 
and  by  sin  was  made  a  servant  of  the  devil.  His  redemp- 
tion was  a  personal  act  of  the  Saviour  towards  each  indi- 
vidual sinner.  In  the  Atonement  Christ  had  before  him 
each  separate  person  whom  he  designed  to  save,  blotting 
out  his  offences,  however  heinous  they  might  be,  and  re- 
cording in  place  of  them  his  own  perfect  obedience.  Each 
reconciled  sinner  in  return  regarded  Christ's  sufferings  as 
undergone  immediately  for  himself,  and  gratitude  for  that 
great  deliverance  enabled  and  obliged  him  to  devote  his 
strength  and  soul  thenceforward  to  God's  semce.  In  the 
seventeenth  century,  all  earnest  English  Protestants  held 


60  BUNTAN.  [chap. 

this  belief.  In  the  nineteenth  century,  most  of  us  repeat 
the  phrases  of  this  belief,  and  pretend  to  hold  it.  We 
think  we  hold  it.  We  are  growing  more  cautious,  per- 
haps, with  our  definitions.  We  suspect  that  there  may  be 
mysteries  in  God's  nature  and  methods  which  we  cannot 
fully  explain.  The  outlines  of  "  the  scheme  of  salvation  " 
are  growing  indistinct ;  and  we  see  it  through  a  gathering 
mist.  Yet  the  essence  of  it  will  remain  true,  whether  we 
recognise  it  or  not.  While  man  remains  man  he  will  do 
things  which  he  ought  not  to  do.  He  will  leave  undone 
things  which  he  ought  to  do.  To  will,  may  be  present 
with  him ;  but  how  to  perform  what  he  wills,  he  will  nev- 
er fully  know,  and  he  will  still  hate  "  the  body  of  death " 
which  he  feels  clinging  to  him.  He  will  try  to  do  better. 
When  he  falls,  he  will  struggle  to  his  feet  again.  He  will 
climb  and  climb  on  the  hill-side,  though  he  never  reaches 
the  top,  and  knows  that  he  can  never  reach  it.  His  life 
will  be  a  failure,  which  he  will  not  dare  to  offer  as  a  fit 
account  of  himself,  or  as  worth  a  serious  regard.  Yet  he 
will  still  hope  that  he  will  not  be  wholly  cast  away  when, 
after  his  sleep  in  death,  he  wakes  again. 

Now,  says  Bunyan,  there  remained  only  the  hinder  part 
of  the  tempest.  Heavenly  voices  continued  to  encourage 
him.  "As  I  was  passing  in  the  field,"  he  goes  on,  "I 
heard  the  sentence,  thy  righteousness  is  in  heaven ;  and 
methought  I  saw,  with  the  eyes  of  my  soul,  Jesus  Christ 
at  God's  right  hand,  there  I  say,  as  my  righteousness,  so 
that  wherever  I  was,  or  whatever  I  was  doing,  God  could 
not  say  of  me  He  wants  my  righteousness,  for  that  was 
just  before  Him.  Now  did  my  chains  fall  off  my  legs  in- 
deed. I  was  loosed  from  my  affliction  and  irons;  my 
temptations  also  fled  away,  so  that  from  that  time  those 
dreadful  Scriptures  of  God  left  off  to  trouble  me.     Now 


m.]  "GRACE  ABOUNDING."  61 

went  I  home  rejoicing  for  the  grace  and  love  of  God. 
Christ  of  God  is  made  unto  us  wisdom  and  righteousness, 
and  sanctification  and  redemption.  I  now  lived  very 
sweetly  at  peace  with  God  through  Christ.  Oh !  me- 
thought,  Christ !  Christ !  There  was  nothing  but  Christ 
before  my  eyes.  I  was  not  now  only  looking  upon  this 
and  the  other  benefits  of  Christ  apart,  as  of  His  blood, 
burial,  and  resurrection,  but  considered  Him  as  a  whole 
Christ.  All  those  graces  that  were  now  green  in  me  were 
yet  but  like  those  cracked  groats  and  fourpence  half-pen- 
nies which  rich  men  carry  in  their  purses,  while  their  gold 
is  in  their  trunks  at  home.  Oh !  I  saw  my  gold  was  in 
my  tnmk  at  home  in  Christ  my  Lord  and  Saviour.  The 
Lord  led  me  into  the  mystery  of  union  with  the  Son  of 
God,  that  I  was  joined  to  Him,  that  I  was  flesh  of  His 
flesh.  If  He  and  I  were  one.  His  righteousness  was  mine. 
His  merits  mine.  His  victory  mine.  Now  I  could  see  my- 
self in  heaven  and  earth  at  once ;  in  heaven  by  my  Christ, 
though  on  earth  by  my  body  and  person.  Christ  was  that 
common  and  public  person  in  whom  the  whole  body  of 
His  elect  are  always  to  be  considered  and  reckoned.  We 
fulfilled  the  law  by  Him,  died  by  Him,  rose  from  the  dead 
by  Him,  got  the  victory  over  sin  and  death,  the  devil  and 
hell  by  Him.  I  had  cause  to  say.  Praise  ye  the  Lord. 
Praise  God  in  His  sanctuary." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CALL  TO  THE   MINISTRY. 

The  Pilgrim  falls  into  the  hands  of  Giant  Despair  because 
he  has  himself  first  strayed  into  Byepath  Meadow.  Ban- 
yan found  an  explanation  of  his  last  convulsion  in  an  act 
of  unbelief,  on  which,  on  looking  back,  he  perceived  that 
he  had  been  guilty.  He  had  been  delivered  out  of  his 
first  temptation.  He  had  not  been  suflBciently  on  his 
guard  against  temptations  that  might  come  in  the  future ; 
nay,  he  had  himself  tempted  God.  His  wife  had  been 
overtaken  by  a  premature  confinement,  and  was  suffering 
acutely.  It  was  at  the  time  when  Bunyan  was  exercised 
with  questions  about  the  truth  of  religion  altogether.  As 
the  poor  woman  lay  crying  at  his  side,  he  had  said,  mental- 
ly, "  Lord,  if  Thou  wilt  now  remove  this  sad  affliction  from 
my  wife,  and  cause  that  she  be  troubled  no  more  therewith 
this  night,  then  I  shall  know  that  Thou  canst  discern  the 
more  secret  thoughts  of  the  heart."  In  a  moment  the 
pain  ceased,  and  she  fell  into  a  sleep  which  lasted  till  morn- 
ing. Bunyan,  though  surprised  at  the  time,  forgot  what 
had  happened,  till  it  rushed  back  upon  his  memory,  when 
he  had  committed  himself  by  a  similar  mental  assent  to 
selling  Christ.  He  remembered  the  proof  which  had  been 
given  to  him  that  God  could  and  did  discern  his  thoughts. 
God  had  discerned  this  second  thought  also,  and  in  pun- 
ishing him  for  it  had  punished  him  at  the  same  time  for 


CHAP.  ly.]  CALL  TO  THE  MINISTRY.  58 

the  doubt  which  he  had  allowed  himself  to  feel.  "I 
should  have  believed  His  word,"  he  said,  "  and  not  have 
put  an  'if'  upon  the  all-seeingness  of  God." 

The  suffering  was  over  now,  and  he  felt  that  it  had  been 
infinitely  beneficial  to  him.  He  understood  better  the 
glory  of  God  and  of  his  Son.  The  Scriptures  had  opened 
their  secrets  to  him,  and  he  had  seen  them  to  be  in  very 
truth  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven.  Never  so 
clearly  as  after  this  "  temptation  "  had  he  perceived  "  the 
heights  of  grace,  and  love,  and  mercy."  Two  or  three 
times  '*  he  had  such  strange  apprehensions  of  the  grace  of 
God  as  had  amazed  him."  The  impression  was  so  over- 
powering that  if  it  had  continued  long  "  it  would  have 
rendered  him  incapable  for  business."  He  joined  his  friend 
Mr.  Gifford's  church.  He  was  baptised  in  the  Ouse,  and 
became  a  professed  member  of  the  Baptist  congregation. 
Soon  after,  his  mental  conflict  was  entirely  over,  and  he 
had  two  quiet  years  of  peace.  Before  a  man  can  use  his 
powers  to  any  purpose,  he  must  arrive  at  some  conviction 
in  which  his  intellect  can  acquiesce.  "Calm  yourself," 
says  Jean  Paul;  "it  is  your  first  necessity.  Be  a  stoic, 
if  nothing  else  will  serve."  Bunyan  had  not  been  driven 
into  stoicism.  He  was  now  restored  to  the  possession  of 
his  faculties,  and  his  remarkable  ability  was  not  long  in 
showing  itself. 

The  first  consequence  of  his  mental  troubles  was  an  ill- 
ness. He  had  a  cough  which  threatened  to  turn  into  con- 
sumption. He  thought  it  was  all  over  with  him,  and  he 
was  fixing  his  eyes  "  on  the  heavenly  Jerusalem  and  the 
innumerable  company  of  angels;"  but  the  danger  passed 
off,  and  he  became  well  and  strong  in  mind  and  body. 
Notwithstanding  his  various  miseries,  he  had  not  neglect- 
ed his  business,  and  had,  indeed,  been  specially  successful. 


64  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

By  the  time  that  he  was  twenty-five  years  old  ho  was  in 
a  position  considerably  superior  to  that  in  which  he  was 
bom.  "  God,"  says  a  contemporary  biographer,  "  had  in- 
creased his  stores  so  that  he  lived  in  great  credit  among 
his  neighbours."  On  May  13, 1653,  Bedfordshire  sent  an 
address  to  Cromwell  approving  the  dismissal  of  the  Long 
Parliament,  recognising  Oliver  himself  as  the  Lord's  in- 
strument, and  recommending  the  county  magistrates  as  fit 
persons  to  serve  in  the  Assembly  which  was  to  take  its 
place.  Among  thirty-six  names  attached  to  this  document 
appear  those  of  Gifford  and  Bunyan.  This  speaks  for 
itself:  he  must  have  been  at  least  a  householder  and  a  per- 
son of  consideration.  It  was  not,  however,  as  a  prosperous 
brazier  that  Bunyan  was  to  make  his  way.  He  had  a  gift 
of  speech,  which,  in  the  democratic  congregation  to  which 
he  belonged,  could  not  long  remain  hid.  Young  as  he 
was,  he  had  sounded  the  depths  of  spiritual  experience. 
Like  Dante,  he  had  been  in  hell — the  popular  hell  of  Eng- 
lish Puritanism — and  in  1655,  he  was  called  upon  to  take 
part  in  the  "  ministry."  He  was  modest,  humble,  shrink- 
ing. The  minister  when  he  preached  was,  according  to 
the  theory,  an  instrument  uttering  the  words  not  of  him- 
self but  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  A  man  like  Bunyan,  who 
really  believed  this,  might  well  be  alarmed.  After  earnest 
entreaty,  however,  "  he  made  experiment  of  his  powers " 
in  private,  and  it  was  at  once  evident  that,  with  the  thing 
which  these  people  meant  by  inspiration,  he  was  abun- 
dantly supplied.  No  such  preacher  to  the  uneducated 
English  masses  was  to  be  found  within  the  four  seas.  He 
says  that  he  had  no  desire  of  vainglory ;  no  one  who  has 
studied  his  character  can  suppose  that  he  had.  He  was  a 
man  of  natural  genius,  who  believed  the  Protestant  form 
of  Christianity  to  be  completely  true.     He  knew  nothing 


IT.]  CALL  TO  THE  MINISTRY.  65 

of  philosophy,  nothing  of  history,  nothing  of  literature. 
The  doubts  to  which  he  acknowledged  being  without  their 
natural  food,  had  never  presented  themselves  in  a  form 
which  would  have  compelled  him  to  submit  to  remain  un- 
certain. Doubt,  as  he  had  felt  it,  was  a  direct  enemy  of 
morality  and  purity,  and  as  such  he  had  fought  with  it 
and  conquered  it.  Protestant  Christianity  was  true.  All 
mankind  were  perishing  unless  they  saw  it  to  be  true. 
This  was  his  message ;  a  message — supposing  him  to  have 
been  right — of  an  importance  so  immeasurable  that  all  else 
was  nothing.  He  was  still  "  afflicted  with  the  fiery  darts 
of  the  devil,"  but  he  saw  that  he  must  not  bury  his  abili- 
ties. "  In  fear  and  trembling,"  therefore,  he  set  himself 
to  the  work,  and  "  did  according  to  his  power  preach  the 
Gospel  that  God  had  shewn  him." 

"  The  Lord  led  him  to  begin  where  his  Word  began — 
with  sinners.  This  part  of  my  work,"  he  says,  "  I  fulfilled 
with  a  great  sense,  for  the  terrors  of  the  law  and  guilt  for 
my  transgressions  lay  heavy  on  my  conscience.  I  preach- 
ed what  I  felt.  I  had  been  sent  to  my  hearers  as  from 
the  dead.  I  went  myself  in  chains  to  preach  to  them  in 
chains,  and  carried  that  fire  in  my  own  conscience  that  I 
persuaded  them  to  beware  of.  I  have  gone  full  of  guilt 
and  terror  to  the  pulpit  door;  God  carried  me  on  with  a 
strong  hand,  for  neither  guilt  nor  hell  could  take  me  off." 

Many  of  Bunyan's  addresses  remain  in  the  form  of  the- 
ological treatises,  and,  that  I  may  not  have  to  return  to  the 
subject,  I  shall  give  some  account  of  them.  His  doctrine 
was  the  doctrine  of  the  best  and  strongest  minds  in  Eu- 
rope. It  had  been  believed  by  Luther,  it  had  been  believed 
by  Knox.  It  was  believed  at  that  moment  by  Oliver 
Cromwell  as  completely  as  by  Bunyan  himself.  It  was 
believed,  so  far  as  such  a  person  could  be  said  to  believe 


56  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

anything,  by  the  all-accomplished  Leibnitz  himself.  Few 
educated  people  use  the  language  of  it  now.  In  them  it 
was  a  fire  from  hearen  shining  like  a  sun  in  a  dark  world. 
With  us  the  fire  has  gone  out ;  in  the  place  of  it  we  have 
but  smoke  and  ashes ;  and  the  Evangelical  mind,  in  search 
of  "  something  deeper  and  truer  than  satisfied  the  last  cen- 
tury," is  turning  back  to  Catholic  verities.  What  Bunyan 
had  to  say  may  be  less  than  the  whole  truth :  we  shall 
scarcely  find  the  still  missing  part  of  it  in  lines  of  thought 
which  we  have  outgrown. 

Bunyan  preached  wherever  opportunity  served  —  in 
woods,  in  bams,  on  village  greens,  or  in  town  chapels. 
The  substance  of  his  sermons  he  revised  and  published. 
He  began,  as  he  said,  with  sinners,  explaining  the  condi- 
tion of  men  in  the  world.  They  were  under  the  law,  or 
they  were  under  grace.  Every  person  that  came  into  the 
world  was  born  under  the  law,  and  as  such  was  bound, 
under  pain  of  eternal  damnation,  to  fulfil  completely  and 
continually  every  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments.  The 
Bible  said  plainly,  "  Cursed  is  every  one  that  continueth 
not  in  all  things  which  are  written  in  the  book  of  the  law 
to  do  them."  "  The  soul  that  sinneth,  it  shall  die."  The 
Ten  Commandments  extended  into  many  more,  and  to 
fail  in  a  single  one  was  as  fatal  as  to  break  them  all.  A 
man  might  go  on  for  a  long  time,  for  sixty  years  perhaps, 
without  falling.  Bunyan  does  not  mean  that  anyone 
really  could  do  all  this,  but  he  assumes  the  possibility ; 
yet  he  says  if  the  man  slipped  once  before  he  died,  he 
would  eternally  perish.  The  law  does  not  refer  to  words 
and  actions  only,  but  to  thoughts  and  feelings.  It  fol- 
lowed a  man  in  his  prayers,  and  detected  a  wandering 
thought.  It  allowed  no  repentance  to  those  who  lived 
and  died  under  it     If  it  was  asked  whether  God  could 


17.]  CALL  TO  THE  MINISTRY.  67 

not  pardon,  as  earthly  judges  pardon  criminals,  the  answer 
was  that  it  is  not  the  law  which  is  merciful  to  the  earthly 
offender,  but  the  magistrate.  The  law  is  an  eternal  prin- 
ciple. The  magistrate  may  forgive  a  man  without  exact- 
ing satisfaction.  The  law  knows  no  forgiveness.  It  can 
be  as  little  changed  as  an  axiom  of  mathematics.  Re- 
pentance cannot  undo  the  past.  Let  a  man  leave  his  sins 
and  live  as  purely  as  an  angel  all  the  rest  of  his  life,  his 
old  faults  remain  in  the  account  against  him,  and  his  state 
is  as  bad  as  ever  it  was.  God's  justice  once  offended 
knows  not  pity  or  compassion,  but  runs  on  the  offender 
like  a  lion  and  throws  him  into  prison,  there  to  lie  to  all 
eternity  unless  infinite  satisfaction  be  given  to  it.  And 
that  satisfaction  no  son  of  Adam  could  possibly  make. 

This  conception  of  Divine  justice,  not  as  a  sentence  of 
a  judge,  but  as  the  action  of  an  eternal  law,  is  identical 
with  Spinoza's.  That  every  act  involves  consequences 
which  cannot  be  separated  from  it,  and  may  continue 
operative  to  eternity,  is  a  philosophical  position  which  is 
now  generally  admitted.  Combined  with  the  traditionary 
notions  of  a  future  judgment  and  punishment  in  hell,  the 
recognition  that  there  was  a  law  in  the  case,  and  that  the 
law  could  not  be  broken,  led  to  the  frightful  inference  that 
each  individual  was  liable  to  be  kept  alive  and  tortured 
through  all  eternity.  And  this,  in  fact,  was  the  fate  really 
in  store  for  every  human  creature  unless  some  extraordi- 
nary remedy  could  be  found.  Bunyan  would  allow  no 
merit  to  anyone.  He  would  not  have  it  supposed  that 
only  the  profane  or  grossly  wicked  were  in  danger  from 
the  law.  "A  man,"  he  says,  "  may  be  turned  from  a  vain, 
loose,  open,  profane  conversation  and  sinning  against  the 
law,  to  a  holy,  righteous,  religious  life,  and  yet  be  under 
the  same  state  and  as  sure  to  be  damned  as  the  others 


68  BUNTAN.  [chap. 

that  are  more  profane  and  loose."  The  natural  man  might 
think  it  strange,  but  the  language  of  the  curse  was  not  to 
be  mistaken.  Cursed  is  every  one  who  has  failed  to  fulfil 
the  whole  law.  There  was  not  a  person  in  the  whole 
world  who  had  not  himself  sinned  in  early  life.  All  had 
sinned  in  Adam  also,  and  St.  Paul  had  said  in  consequence, 
" '  There  is  none  that  doeth  good,  no,  not  one  P  The  law 
was  given  not  that  we  might  be  saved  by  obeying  it,  but 
that  we  might  know  the  holiness  of  God  and  our  own 
vileness,  and  that  we  might  understand  that  we  should  not 
be  damned  for  nothing.  God  would  have  no  quarrelling 
at  His  just  condemning  of  us  at  that  day." 

This  is  Bunyan's  notion  of  the  position  in  which  we 
all  naturally  stand  in  this  world,  and  from  which  the  sub- 
stitution of  Christ's  perfect  fulfilment  of  the  law  alone 
rescues  us.  It  is  calculated,  no  doubt,  to  impress  on  us  a 
profound  horror  of  moral  evil  when  the  penalty  attached 
to  it  is  so  fearful.  But  it  is  dangerous  to  introduce  into 
religion  metaphysical  conceptions  of  "law."  The  cord 
cracks  that  is  strained  too  tightly ;  and  it  is  only  for  brief 
periods  of  high  spiritual  tension  that  a  theology  so  merci- 
less can  sustain  itself.  No  one  with  a  conscience  in  him 
will  think  of  claiming  any  merit  for  himself.  But  we 
know  also  that  there  are  degrees  of  demerit,  and,  theory 
or  no  theory,  we  fall  back  on  the  first  verse  of  the  Eng- 
lish Liturgy,  as  containing  a  more  endurable  account  of 
things. 

For  this  reason,  among  others,  Bunyan  disliked  the 
Liturgy.  He  thought  the  doctrine  of  it  false,  and  he  ob- 
jected to  a  Liturgy  on  principle.  He  has  a  sermon  on 
Prayer,  in  which  he  insists  that  to  be  worth  anything 
prayer  must  be  the  expression  of  an  inward  feeling;  and 
that  people   cannot  feel   in   lines  laid  down  for  them. 


IT.]  CALL  TO  THE  MINISTRY.  S9 

Forms  of  prayer  he  thought  especially  mischievous  to  chil- 
dren, as  accustoming  them  to  use  words  to  which  they 
attached  no  meaning. 

"  My  judgment,"  he  says,  "  is  that  men  go  the  wrong 
way  to  learn  their  children  to  pray.  It  seems  to  me  a 
better  way  for  people  to  tell  their  children  betimes  what 
cursed  creatures  they  are,  how  they  are  under  the  wrath 
of  God  by  reason  of  original  and  actual  sin ;  also  to  tell 
them  the  nature  of  God's  wrath  and  the  duration  of 
misery,  which,  if  they  would  conscientiously  do,  they 
would  sooner  learn  their  children  to  pray  than  they  do. 
The  way  that  men  learn  to  pray  is  by  conviction  of  sin, 
and  this  is  the  way  to  make  our  'sweet  babes'  do  so 
too." 

"  Sweet  babes  "  is  unworthy  of  Bunyan.  There  is  little 
sweetness  in  a  state  of  things  so  stem  as  he  conceives. 
He  might  have  considered,  too,  that  there  was  a  danger 
of  making  children  unreal  in  another  and  worse  sense  by 
teaching  them  doctrines  which  neither  child  nor  man  can 
comprehend.  It  may  be  true  that  a  single  sin  may  con- 
sign me  to  everlasting  hell,  but  I  cannot  be  made  to  ac- 
knowledge the  justice  of  it.  "  Wrath  of  God  "  and  such 
expressions  are  out  of  place  when  we  are  brought  into  the 
presence  of  metaphysical  laws.  Wrath  corresponds  to 
free-will  misused.  It  is  senseless  and  extravagant  when 
pronounced  against  actions  which  men  cannot  help,  when 
the  faulty  action  is  the  necessary  consequence  of  their 
nature,  and  the  penalty  the  necessary  consequence  of  the 
action. 

The  same  confusion  of  thought  lies  in  the  treatment  of 
the  kindred  subjects  of  Free-will,  Election,  and  Reproba- 
tion. The  logic  must  be  maintained,  and  God's  moral  at- 
tributes simultaneously  vindicated.  Bunyan  argues  about 
£  5 


60  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

it  as  ingeniously  as  Leibnitz  himself.  Those  who  suppose 
that  specific  guilt  attaches  to  particular  acts,  that  all  men 
are  put  into  the  world  free  to  keep  the  Commandments  or 
to  break  them,  that  they  are  equally  able  to  do  one  as  to 
do  the  other,  and  are,  therefore,  proper  objects  of  punish- 
ment, hold  an  opinion  which  is  consistent  in  itself,  but  is 
in  entire  contradiction  with  facts.  Children  are  not  as  able 
to  control  their  inclinations  as  grown  men,  and  one  man  is 
not  as  able  to  control  himself  as  another.  Some  have  no 
diflBculty  from  the  first,  and  are  constitutionally  good ;  some 
are  constitutionally  weak,  or  have  incurable  propensities  for 
evil.  Some  are  brought  up  with  care  and  insight ;  others 
seem  never  to  have  any  chance  at  all.  So  evident  is  this, 
that  impartial  thinkers  have  questioned  the  reality  of  hu- 
man guilt  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  generally  understood. 
Even  Butler  allows  that  if  we  look  too  curiously  we  may 
have  a  diflBculty  in  finding  where  it  lies.  And  here,  if  any- 
where, there  is  a  real  natural  truth  in  the  doctrine  of  Elec- 
tion, independent  of  the  merit  of  those  who  are  so  happy 
as  to  find  favor.  Bunyan,  however,  reverses  the  inference. 
He  will  have  all  guilty  together,  those  who  do  well  and 
those  who  do  ill.  Even  the  elect  are  in  themselves  as  bad- 
ly oS.  as  the  reprobate,  and  are  equally  included  under  sin. 
Those  who  are  saved  are  saved  for  Christ's  merits  and  not 
for  their  own. 

Men  of  calmer  temperament  accept  facts  as  they  find 
them.  They  are  too  conscious  of  their  ignorance  to  in- 
sist on  explaining  problems  which  are  beyond  their  reach. 
Bunyan  lived  in  an  age  of  intense  religious  excitement, 
when  the  strongest  minds  were  exercising  themselves  on 
those  questions.  It  is  noticeable  that  the  most  effective 
intellects  inclined  to  necessitarian  conclusions :  some  in  the 
shape  of  Calvinism,  some  in  the  corresponding  philosophic 


IV.]  CALL  TO  THE  MINISTRY.  61 

form  of  Spinozism.  From  both  alike  there  came  an  abso- 
lute submission  to  the  decrees  of  God,  and  a  passionate 
devotion  to  his  service ;  while  the  morality  of  Free-will  is 
cold  and  calculating.  Appeals  to  a  sense  of  duty  do  not 
reach  beyond  the  understanding.  The  enthusiasm  which 
will  stir  men's  hearts  and  give  them  a  real  power  of  resisting 
temptation  must  be  nourished  on  more  invigorating  food. 

But  I  need  dwell  no  more  on  a  subject  which  is  unsuited 
for  these  pages. 

The  object  of  Bunyan,  like  that  of  Luther,  like  that  of 
all  great  spiritual  teachers,  was  to  bring  his  wandering  fel- 
low-mortals into  obedience  to  the  commandments,  even 
while  he  insisted  on  the  worthlessness  of  it.  He  sounded 
the  strings  to  others  which  had  sounded  loudest  in  him- 
self. When  he  passed  from  mysticism  into  matters  of  or- 
dinary life,  he  showed  the  same  practical  good  sense  which 
distinguishes  the  chief  of  all  this  order  of  thinkers — St. 
Paul.  There  is  a  sermon  of  Bunyan's  on  Christian  be- 
haviour, on  the  duties  of  parents  to  children,  and  masters 
to  servants,  which  might  be  studied  with  as  much  advan- 
tage in  English  households  as  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  it- 
self. To  fathers  he  says,  "  Take  heed  that  the  misdeeds 
for  which  thou  correctest  thy  children  be  not  learned  them 
by  thee.  Many  children  learn  that  wickedness  of  their 
parents,  for  which  they  beat  and  chastise  them.  Take 
heed  that  thou  smile  not  upon  them  to  encourage  them  in 
small  faults,  lest  that  thy  carriage  to  them  be  an  encour- 
agement to  them  to  commit  greater  faults.  Take  heed 
that  thou  use  not  unsavoury  and  unseemly  words  in  thy 
chastising  of  them,  as  railing,  miscalling,  and  the  like — this 
is  devilish.  Take  heed  that  thou  do  not  use  them  to  many 
chiding  words  and  threatenings,  mixed  with  lightness  and 
laughter.     This  will  harden." 


62  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

And  again  :  "  I  tell  you  that  if  parents  carry  it  lovingly 
towards  their  children,  mixing  their  mercies  with  loving 
rebukes,  and  their  loving  rebukes  with  fatherly  and  moth- 
erly compassions,  they  are  more  likely  to  save  their  chil- 
dren than  by  being  churlish  and  severe  to  them.  Even  if 
these  things  do  not  save  them,  if  their  mercy  do  them  no 
good,  yet  it  will  greatly  ease  them  at  the  day  of  death  to 
consider,  I  have  done  by  love  as  much  as  I  could  to  save 
and  deliver  my  child  from  hell." 

Whole  volumes  on  education  have  said  less,  or  less  to 
the  purpose,  than  these  simple  words.  Unfortunately,  par- 
ents do  not  read  Bunyan.     He  is  left  to  children. 

Similarly,  he  says  to  masters : — 

"  It  is  thy  duty  so  to  behave  thyself  to  thy  servant  that 
thy  service  may  not  only  be  for  thy  good,  but  for  the 
good  of  thy  servant,  and  that  in  body  and  soul.  Deal 
with  him  as  to  admonition  as  with  thy  children.  Take 
heed  thou  do  not  turn  thy  servants  into  slaves  by  over- 
charging them  in  thy  work  with  thy  greediness.  Take 
heed  thou  carry  not  thyself  to  thy  servant  as  he  of  whom 
it  is  said,  "  He  is  such  a  man  of  Belial  that  his  servants 
cannot  speak  to  him."  The  Apostle  bids  you  forbear  to 
threaten  them,  because  you  also  have  a  Master  in  Heaven. 
Masters,  give  your  servants  that  which  is  just,  just  labour 
and  just  wages.  Servants  that  are  truly  godly  care  not 
how  cheap  they  serve  their  masters,  provided  they  may 
get  into  godly  families,  or  where  they  may  be  convenient 
for  the  Word.  But  if  a  master  or  mistress  takes  this  op- 
portunity to  make  a  prey  of  their  servants,  it  is  abominable. 
I  have  heard  poor  servants  say  that  in  some  carnal  families 
they  have  had  more  liberty  to  God's  things  and  more  fair- 
ness of  dealing  than  among  many  professors.  Such  masters 
make  religion  to  stink  before  the  inhabitants  of  the  land." 


rv.]  CALL  TO  THE  MINISTRY.  68 

Banyan  was  generally  charitable  in  his  judgment  upon 
others.  If  there  was  any  exception,  it  was  of  professors 
who  discredited  their  calling  by  conceit  and  worldliness. 

"No  sin,"  he  says,  "reigneth  more  in  the  world  than 
pride  among  professors.  The  thing  is  too  apparent  for 
any  man  to  deny.  We  may  and  do  see  pride  display  it- 
self in  the  apparel  and  carriage  of  professors  almost  as 
much  as  among  any  in  the  land.  I  have  seen  church  mem- 
bers so  decked  and  bedaubed  with  their  fangles  and  toys 
that,  when  they  have  been  at  worship,  I  have  wondered 
with  what  faces  such  painted  persons  could  sit  in  the 
place  where  they  were  without  swooning.  I  once  talked 
with  a  maid,  by  way  of  reproof  for  her  fond  and  gaudy 
garment ;  she  told  me  the  tailor  would  make  it  so.  Poor 
proud  girl,  she  gave  orders  to  the  tailor  to  make  it  so." 

I  will  give  one  more  extract  from  Bunyan's  pastoral  ad- 
dresses. It  belongs  to  a  later  period  in  his  ministry,  when 
the  law  had,  for  a  time,  remade  Dissent  into  a  crime ;  but 
it  will  throw  light  on  the  part  of  his  story  which  we  are 
now  approaching,  and  it  is  in  every  way  very  characteris- 
tic of  him.  He  is  speaking  to  sufferers  under  persecution. 
He  says  to  them : — 

"  Take  heed  of  being  offended  with  magistrates,  because 
by  their  statutes  they  may  cross  thy  inclinations.  It  is  given 
to  them  to  bear  the  sword,  and  a  command  is  to  thee,  if 
thy  heart  cannot  acquiesce  with  all  things,  with  meekness 
and  patience  to  suffer.  Discontent  in  the  mind  some- 
times puts  discontent  into  the  mouth ;  and  discontent  in 
the  mouth  doth  sometimes  also  put  a  halter  about  thy 
neck.  For  as  a  man  speaking  a  word  in  jest  may  for  that 
be  hanged  in  earnest,  so  he  that  speaks  in  discontent  may 
die  for  it  in  sober  sadness.  Above  all,  get  thy  conscience 
possessed  more  and  more  with  this,  that  the  magistrate  is 


64  BUNYAN.  [chap.  it. 

God's  ordinance,  and  is  ordered  of  God  as  such ;  that  he 
is  the  minister  of  God  to  thee  for  good,  and  that  it  is  thy 
duty  to  fear  him  and  to  pray  for  him ;  to  give  thanks  to 
God  for  him  and  be  subject  to  him ;  as  both  Paul  and 
Peter  admonish  us ;  and  that  not  only  for  wrath,  but  for 
conscience'  sake.  For  all  other  arguments  come  short  of 
binding  the  soul  when  this  argument  is  wanting,  until  we 
believe  that  of  God  we  are  bound  thereto. 

"  I  speak  not  these  things  as  knowing  any  that  are  dis- 
affected to  the  government,  for  I  love  to  be  alone,  if  not 
with  godly  men,  in  things  that  are  convenient.  I  speak 
to  show  my  loyalty  to  the  king,  and  my  love  to  my  fel- 
low-subjects, and  my  desire  that  all  Christians  shall  walk 
in  ways  of  peace  and  truth." 


CHAPTER  V. 

ARREST  AND   TRIAL. 

Buntan's  preaching  enterprise  became  an  extraordinary 
success.  All  the  Midland  Counties  heard  of  his  fame,  and 
demanded  to  hear  him.  He  had  been  Deacon  under  Gif^ 
ford  at  the  Bedford  Church ;  but  he  was  in  such  request 
as  a  preacher,  that,  in  1657,  he  was  released  from  his  du- 
ties there  as  unable  to  attend  to  them.  Sects  were  spring- 
ing up  all  over  England  as  weeds  in  a  hot-bed.  He  was 
soon  in  controversy ;  controversy  with  Church  of  England 
people ;  controversy  with  the  Ranters,  who  believed  Christ 
to  be  a  myth ;  controversy  with  the  Quakers,  who,  at  their 
outset,  disbelieved  in  his  Divinity  and  in  the  inspiration  of 
the  Scriptures.  Envy  at  his  rapidly  acquired  reputation 
brought  him  baser  enemies.  He  was  called  a  witch,  a 
Jesuit,  a  highwayman.  It  was  reported  that  he  had  "  his 
misses,"  that  he  had  two  wives,  etc.  "My  foes  have 
missed  their  mark  in  this,"  he  said,  with  honest  warmth : 
"  I  am  not  the  man.  If  all  the  fornicators  and  adulterers 
in  England  were  hanged  by  the  neck,  John  Bunyan,  the 
object  of  their  envy,  would  be  still  alive  and  well.  I  know 
not  whether  there  be  such  a  thing  as  a  woman  breathing 
under  the  cope  of  the  whole  heavens  but  by  their  apparel, 
their  children,  or  common  fame,  except  my  wife." 

But  a  more  serious  trial  was  now  before  him.    Crom- 


66  BUNYAN.  [chip. 

well  passed  away.  The  Protectorate  came  to  an  end. 
England  decided  that  it  had  had  enough  of  Puritans  and 
republicans,  and  would  give  the  Stuarts  and  the  Established 
Church  another  trial.  A  necessary  consequence  was  the 
revival  of  the  Act  of  Uniformity.  The  Independents  were 
not  meek  like  the  Baptists,  using  no  weapons  to  oppose 
what  they  disapproved  but  passive  resistance.  The  same 
motives  which  had  determined  the  original  constitution  of 
a  Church  combining  the  characters  of  Protestant  and 
Catholic,  instead  of  leaving  religion  free,  were  even  more 
powerful  at  the  Restoration  than  they  had  been  at  the  ac- 
cession of  Elizabeth.  Before  toleration  is  possible,  men 
must  have  learnt  to  tolerate  toleration  itself ;  and  in  times 
of  violent  convictions,  toleration  is  looked  on  as  indiflEer- 
ence,  and  indifference  as  Atheism  in  disguise.  Catholics 
and  Protestants,  Churchmen  and  Dissenters,  regarded  one 
another  as  enemies  of  God  and  the  State,  with  whom  no 
peace  was  possible.  Toleration  had  been  tried  by  the 
Valois  princes  in  France.  Church  and  chapel  had  been 
the  rendezvous  of  armed  fanatics.  The  preachers  blew 
the  war-trumpet,  and  every  town  and  village  had  been  the 
scene  of  furious  conflicts,  which  culminated  in  the  Massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew.  The  same  result  would  have  followed 
in  England  if  the  same  experiment  had  been  ventured. 
The  different  communities  were  forbidden  to  have  their 
separate  places  of  worship,  and  services  were  contrived 
which  moderate  men  of  all  sorts  could  use  and  interpret 
after  their  own  convictions.  The  instrument  required  to 
be  delicately  handled.  It  succeeded  tolerably  as  long  as 
Elizabeth  lived.  "When  Elizabeth  died,  the  balance  was 
no  longer  fairly  kept.  The  High-Church  party  obtained 
the  ascendency,  and  abused  their  power.  Tyranny  brought 
revolution,  and  the  Catholic  element  in  turn  disappeared. 


T.]  ARREST  AND  TRIAL,  67 

The  Bishops  were  displaced  by  Presbyterian  elders.  The 
Presbyterian  elders  became  in  turn  "  hireling  wolves,"  "  old 
priest "  written  in  new  characters.  Cromwell  had  left  con- 
science free  to  Protestants.  But  even  he  had  refused 
equal  liberty  to  Catholics  and  Episcopalians.  He  was 
gone  too,  and  Church,  and  King  were  back  again.  How 
were  they  to  stand?  The  stem,  resolute  men,  to  whom 
the  Commonwealth  had  been  the  establishment  of  God's 
kingdom  upon  earth,  were  as  little  inclined  to  keep  terms 
with  Antichrist  as  the  Church  people  had  been  inclined 
to  keep  terms  with  Cromwell.  To  have  allowed  them  to 
meet  openly  in  their  conventicles  would  have  been  to  make 
over  the  whole  of  England  to  them  as  a  seed-bed  in  which 
to  plant  sedition.  It  was  pardonable,  it  was  even  neces- 
sary, for  Charles  H.  and  his  advisers  to  fall  back  upon 
Elizabeth's  principles,  at  least  as  long  as  the  ashes  were 
still  glowing.  Indulgence  had  to  be  postponed  till  cooler 
times.  With  the  Fifth  Monarchy  men  abroad,  every 
chapel,  except  those  of  the  Baptists,  would  have  been  a 
magazine  of  explosives. 

Under  the  35th  of  Elizabeth,  Nonconformists  refusing 
to  attend  worship  in  the  parish  churches  were  to  be  im- 
prisoned till  they  made  their  submission.  Three  months 
were  allowed  them  to  consider.  If  at  the  end  of  that 
time  they  were  still  obstinate,  they  were  to  be  banished 
the  realm ;  and  if  they  subsequently  returned  to  England 
without  permission  from  the  Crown,  they  were  liable  to 
execution  as  felons.  This  Act  had  fallen  with  the  Long 
Parliament,  but  at  the  Restoration  it  was  held  to  have  re- 
vived and  to  be  still  in  force.  The  parish  churches  were 
cleared  of  their  unordained  ministers.  The  Dissenters' 
chapels  were  closed.  The  people  were  required  by  proc- 
lamation to  be  present  on  Sundays  in  their  proper  place. 
4 


68  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

So  the  majority  of  the  nation  had  decided.  If  they  had 
wished  for  religious  liberty  they  would  not  have  restored 
the  Stuarts,  or  they  would  have  insisted  on  conditions,  and 
would  have  seen  that  they  were  observed. 

Venner's  plot  showed  the  reality  of  the  danger  and  jus- 
tified the  precaution. 

The  Baptists  and  Quakers  might  have  been  trusted  to 
discourage  violence,  but  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish 
among  the  various  sects,  whose  tenets  were  unknown  and 
even  unsettled.  The  great  body  of  Cromwell's  spiritual 
supporters  believed  that  armed  resistance  to  a  government 
which  they  disapproved  was  not  only  lawful,  but  was  en- 
joined. 

Thus,  no  sooner  was  Charles  II.  on  the  throne  than  the 
Nonconformists  found  themselves  again  under  bondage. 
Their  separate  meetings  were  prohibited,  and  they  were 
not  only  forbidden  to  worship  in  their  own  fashion,  but 
they  had  to  attend  church,  under  penalties.  The  Bedford 
Baptists  refused  to  obey.  Their  meeting-house  in  the 
town  was  shut  up,  but  they  continued  to  assemble  in  woods 
and  outhouses ;  Bunyan  preaching  to  them  as  before,  and 
going  to  the  place  in  disguise.  Informers  were  soon  upon 
his  track.  The  magistrates  had  received  orders  to  be 
vigilant.  Bunyan  was  the  most  prominent  Dissenter  in 
the  neighbourhood.  He  was  too  sensible  to  court  martyr- 
dom. He  had  intended  to  leave  the  town  till  more  quiet 
times,  and  had  arranged  to  meet  a  few  of  his  people  once 
more  to  give  them  a  parting  address.  It  was  November 
12, 1660.  The  place  agreed  on  was  a  house  in  the  village 
of  Samsell,  near  Harlington.  Notice  of  his  intention  was 
privately  conveyed  to  Mr.  Wingate,  a  magistrate  in  the 
adjoining  district.  The  constables  were  set  to  watch  the 
house,  and  were  directed  to  bring  Bunyan  before  him. 


T.]  ARREST  AND  TRUL.  69 

Some  member  of  the  congregation  heard  of  it.  Bunyan 
was  warned,  and  was  advised  to  stay  at  home  that  night, 
or  else  to  conceal  himself.  His  departure  had  been  already 
arranged ;  but  when  he  learnt  that  a  warrant  was  actually 
out  against  him,  he  thought  that  he  was  bound  to  stay  and 
face  the  danger.  He  was  the  first  Nonconformist  who 
had  been  marked  for  arrest.  If  he  flinched  after  he  had 
been  singled  out  by  name,  the  whole  body  of  his  con- 
gregation would  be  discouraged.  Go  to  church  he  would 
not,  or  promise  to  go  to  church;  but  he  was  willing  to 
suffer  whatever  punishment  the  law  might  order.  Thus, 
at  the  time  and  place  which  had  been  agreed  on,  he  was 
in  the  room  at  Samsell,  with  his  Bible  in  his  hand,  and 
was  about  to  begin  his  address,  when  the  constables  enter- 
ed and  arrested  him.  He  made  no  resistance.  He  desired 
only  to  be  allowed  to  say  a  few  words,  which  the  con- 
stables permitted.  He  then  prepared  to  go  with  them. 
He  was  not  treated  with  any  roughness.  It  was  too  late 
to  take  him  that  night  before  the  magistrate.  His  friends 
undertook  for  his  appearance  when  he  should  be  required, 
and  he  went  home  with  them.  The  constables  came  for 
him  again  on  the  following  afternoon. 

Mr.  Wingate,  when  the  information  was  first  brought  to 
him,  supposed  that  he  had  fallen  on  a  nest  of  Fifth  Mon- 
archy men.  He  enquired,  when  Bunyan  was  brought  in, 
how  many  arms  had  been  found  at  the  meeting.  When 
he  learnt  that  there  were  no  arms,  and  that  it  had  no  po- 
litical character  whatever,  he  evidently  thought  it  was  a 
matter  of  no  consequence.  He  told  Bunyan  that  he  had 
been  breaking  the  law,  and  asked  him  why  he  could  not 
attend  to  his  business.  Bunyan  said  that  his  object  in 
teaching  was  merely  to  persuade  people  to  give  up  their 
sins.    He  could  do  that  and  attend  to  his  business  also. 


16  BUNYAN.  [CHAP. 

Wingate  answered  that  the  law  mast  be  obeyed.  He 
must  commit  Banyan  for  trial  at  the  Q  r  Sessions; 
but  he  would  take  bail  for  him,  ilUb.  '•^les  would  en- 

gage that  he  would  not  preach  again  meanwhile.  Bunyan 
refused  to  be  bailed  on  any  such  terms.  Preach  he  would 
and  must,  and  the  recognizances  would  be  forfeited.  Af- 
ter such  an  answer,  Wingate  could  only  send  him  to  gaol ; 
he  could  not  help  himself.  The  committal  was  made 
out,  and  Bunyan  was  being  taken  away,  when  two  of  his 
friends  met  him,  who  were  acquainted  with  Wingate,  and 
they  begged  the  constable  to  wait.  They  went  in  to  the 
magistrate.  They  told  him  who  and  what  Bunyan  was. 
The  magistrate  had  not  the  least  desire  to  be  hard,  and  it 
was  agreed  that  if  he  would  himself  give  some  general 
promise  of  a  vague  kind  he  might  be  let  go  altogether. 
Bunyan  was  called  back.  Another  magistrate  who  knew 
him  had  by  this  time  joined  Wingate.  They  both  said 
that  they  were  reluctant  to  send  him  to  prison.  If  he 
would  promise  them  that  he  would  not  call  the  people  to- 
gether any  more,  he  might  go  home. 

They  had  purposely  chosen  a  form  of  words  which 
would  mean  as  little  as  possible.  But  Bunyan  would  not 
accept  an  evasion.  He  said  that  he  would  not  force  the 
people  to  come  together,  but  if  he  was  in  a  place  where 
the  people  were  met,  he  should  certainly  speak  to  them. 
The  magistrate  repeated  that  the  meetings  were  unlawful. 
They  would  be  satisfied  if  Bunyan  would  simply  promise 
that  he  would  not  call  such  meetings.  It  was  as  plain  as 
possible  that  they  wished  to  dismiss  the  case,  and  they 
were  thrusting  words  into  his  mouth  which  he  could 
use  without  a  mental  reservation;  but  he  persisted  that 
there  were  many  ways  in  which  a  meeting  might  be 
called ;  if  people  came  together  to  hear  him,  knowing  that 


T.]  ARREST  AND  TRIAL.  11 

he  would  speak,  he  might  be  said  to  have  called  them  to* 
gether. 

Remonstrances  and  entreaties  were  equally  useless,  and, 
with  extreme  unwillingness,  they  committed  him  to  Bed- 
ford gaol  to  wait  for  the  sessions. 

It  is  not  for  us  to  say  that  Bunyan  was  too  precise. 
He  was  himself  the  best  judge  of  what  his  conscience  and 
his  situaL.^n  required.  To  himself,  at  any  rate,  his  trial 
was  at  the  moment  most  severe.  He  had  been  left  a  wid- 
ower a  year  or  two  before,  with  four  young  children,  one 
of  them  blind.  He  had  lately  married  a  second  time. 
His  wife  was  pregnant.  The  agitation  at  her  husband's 
arrest  brought  on  premature  labour,  and  she  was  lying  in 
his  house  in  great  danger.  He  was  an  affectionate  man, 
and  the  separation  at  such  a  time  was  peculiarly  distress- 
ing. After  some  weeks  the  Quarter  Sessions  came  on. 
Bunyan  was  indicted  under  the  usual  form,  that  he,  "  be- 
ing a  person  of  such  and  such  condition,  had,  since  such  a 
time,  devilishly  and  pertinaciously  abstained  from  coming 
to  church  to  hear  Divine  service,  and  was  a  common  up- 
holder of  unlawful  meetings  and  conventicles,  to  the  great 
disturbance  and  distraction  of  the  good  subjects  of  this 
kingdom,  contrary  to  the  laws  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  the 
King." 

There  seems  to  have  been  a  wish  to  avoid  giving  him 
a  formal  trial.  He  was  not  required  to  plead,  and  it  may 
have  been  thought  that  he  had  been  punished  suflScient- 
ly.  He  was  asked  why  he  did  not  go  to  church  ?  He  said 
that  the  Prayer-book  was  made  by  man ;  he  was  ordered 
in  the  Bible  to  pray  with  the  spirit  and  the  understanding, 
not  with  the  spirit  and  the  Prayer-book.  The  magistrates, 
referring  to  another  Act  of  Parliament,  cautioned  Bunyan 
against  finding  fault  with  the  Prayer-book,  or  he  would 


72  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

bring  himself  into  further  trouble.  Justice  Keelin,  who  pre- 
sided, said  (so  Bunyan  declares,  and  it  has  been  the  stand- 
ing jest  of  his  biographers  ever  since)  that  the  Prayer-book 
had  been  in  use  ever  since  the  Apostles'  time.  Perhaps 
the  words  were  that  parts  of  it  had  been  then  in  use  (the 
Apostles'  Creed,  for  instance),  and  thus  they  would  have 
been  strictly  true.  However  this  might  be,  they  told  him 
kindly,  as  Mr.  Wingate  had  done,  that  it  would  be  better 
for  him  if  he  would  keep  to  his  proper  work.  The  law 
had  prohibited  conventicles.  He  might  teach,  if  he  pleased, 
in  his  own  family  and  among  his  friends.  He  must  not 
call  large  numbers  of  people  together.  He  was  as  imprac- 
ticable as  before,  and  the  magistrates,  being  but  unregen- 
erate  mortals,  may  be  pardoned  if  they  found  him  provok- 
ing. If,  he  said,  it  was  lawful  for  him  to  do  good  to  a 
few,  it  must  be  equally  lawful  to  do  good  to  many.  He 
had  a  gift,  which  he  was  bound  to  use.  If  it  was  sinful 
for  men  to  meet  together  to  exhort  one  another  to  follow 
Christ,  he  should  sin  still. 

He  was  compelling  the  Court  to  punish  him,  whether 
they  wished  it  or  not.  He  describes  the  scene  as  if  the 
choice  had  rested  with  the  magistrates  to  convict  him  or 
to  let  him  go.  If  he  was  bound  to  do  his  duty,  they 
were  equally  bound  to  do  theirs.  They  took  his  answers 
as  a  plea  of  guilty  to  the  indictment,  and  Justice  Keelin, 
who  was  chairman,  pronounced  his  sentence  in  the  terms 
of  the  Act.  He  was  to  go  to  prison  for  three  months ;  if, 
at  the  end  of  three  months,  he  still  refused  to  conform,  he 
was  to  be  transported ;  and  if  he  came  back  without  li- 
cense he  would  be  hanged.  Bunyan  merely  answered,  "  If 
I  were  out  of  prison  to-day,  I  would  preach  the  Gospel 
again  to-morrow."  More  might  have  followed,  but  the 
gaoler  led  him  away. 


v.]  ARREST  AND  TRIAL.  IS 

There  were  three  gaols  in  Bedford,  and  no  evidence  has 
been  found  to  show  in  which  of  the  three  Bunyan  was 
confined.  Two  of  them,  the  county  gaol  and  the  town 
gaol,  were  large,  roomy  buildings.  Tradition  has  chosen 
the  third,  a  small  lock-up,  fourteen  feet  square,  which  stood 
over  the  river  between  the  central  arches  of  the  old  bridge ; 
and  as  it  appears  from  the  story  that  he  had  at  times  fifty 
or  sixty  fellow-prisoners,  and  as  he  admits  himself  that  he 
was  treated  at  first  with  exceptional  kindness,  it  may  be 
inferred  that  tradition,  in  selecting  the  prison  on  the  bridge, 
was  merely  desiring  to  exhibit  the  sufferings  of  the  Non- 
conformist martyr  in  a  sensational  form,  and  that  he  was 
never  in  this  prison  at  all.  When  it  was  pulled  down  in 
1811,  a  gold  ring  was  found  in  the  rubbish,  with  the  initials 
*'  J.  B."  upon  it.  This  is  one  of  the  "  trifles  light  as  air  " 
which  carry  conviction  to  the  **  jealous  "  only,  and  is  too 
slight  a  foundation  on  which  to  assert  a  fact  so  inherently 
improbable. 

When  the  three  months  were  over,  the  course  of  law 
would  have  brought  him  again  to  the  bar,  when  he  would 
have  had  to  choose  between  conformity  and  exile.  There 
was  still  the  same  desire  to  avoid  extremities,  and  as  the 
day  approached,  the  clerk  of  the  peace  was  sent  to  per- 
suade him  into  some  kind  of  compliance.  Various  insur- 
rections had  broken  out  since  his  arrest,  and  must  have 
shown  him,  if  he  could  have  reflected,  that  there  was  real 
reason  for  the  temporary  enforcement  of  the  Act.  He 
was  not  asked  to  give  up  preaching.  He  was  asked  only 
to  give  up  public  preaching.  It  was  well  known  that  he 
had  no  disposition  to  rebellion.  Even  the  going  to  church 
was  not  insisted  on.  The  clerk  of  the  peace  told  him  that 
he  might  "  exhort  his  neighbours  in  private  discourse,"  if 
only  he  would  not  bring  the  people  together  in  numbers, 


74  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

which  the  magistrates  would  be  bound  to  notice.  In  this 
way  he  might  continue  his  usefulness,  and  would  not  be 
interfered  with. 

Bunyan  knew  his  own  freedom  from  seditious  inten- 
tions. He  would  not  see  that  the  magistrates  could  not 
suspend  the  law  and  make  an  exception  in  his  favour. 
They  were  going  already  to  the  utmost  limit  of  indul- 
gence. But  the  more  he  disapproved  of  rebellion,  the 
more  punctilious  he  was  in  carrying  out  resistance  of  an- 
other kind  which  he  held  to  be  legitimate.  He  was  a 
representative  person,  and  he  thought  that  in  yielding  he 
would  hurt  the  cause  of  religious  liberty.  "  The  law,"  he 
said,  "had  provided  two  ways  of  obeying — one  to  obey 
actively,  and  if  he  could  not  in  conscience  obey  actively, 
then  to  suffer  whatever  penalty  was  inflicted  on  him." 

The  clerk  of  the  peace  could  produce  no  effect.  Bun- 
yan rather  looked  on  him  as  a  false  friend  trying  to  en- 
tangle him.  The  three  months  elapsed,  and  the  magis- 
trates had  to  determine  what  was  to  be  done.  If  Bunyan 
was  brought  before  them,  they  must  exile  him.  His  case 
was  passed  over  and  he  was  left  in  prison,  where  his  wife 
and  children  were  allowed  to  visit  him  daily.  He  did  not 
understand  the  law  or  appreciate  their  forbearance.  He 
exaggerated  his  danger.  At  the  worst  he  could  only  have 
been  sent  to  America,  where  he  might  have  remained  as 
long  as  he  pleased.  He  feared  that  he  might  perhaps  be 
hanged. 

"  I  saw  what  was  coming,"  he  said,  "  and  had  two  consid- 
erations especially  on  my  heart — ^how  to  be  able  to  endure, 
should  my  imprisonment  be  long  and  tedious,  and  how  to 
be  able  to  encounter  death  should  that  be  my  portion.  I 
was  made  to  see  that  if  I  would  suffer  rightly,  I  must  pass 
sentence  of  death  upon  everything  that  can  properly  be 


v.]  ARREST  AND  TRUL.  16 

called  a  thing  of  this  life,  even  to  reckon  myself,  my  wife, 
my  children,  my  health,  my  enjoyments  all  as  dead  to  me, 
and  myself  as  dead  to  them.  Yet  I  was  a  man  compass- 
ed with  infirmities.  The  parting  with  my  wife  and  poor 
children  hath  often  been  to  me  in  this  place  (the  prison  in 
which  he  was  writing)  as  the  pulling  of  my  flesh  from  my 
bones ;  and  that  not  only  because  I  am  too,  too  fond  of 
those  great  mercies,  but  also  because  I  should  have  often 
brought  to  my  mind  the  hardships,  miseries,  and  wants  my 
poor  family  was  like  to  meet  with  should  I  be  taken  from 
them,  especially  my  poor  blind  child,  who  lay  nearer  my 
heart  than  all  I  had  besides.  Poor  child,  thought  I,  what 
sorrow  art  thou  like  to  have  for  thy  portion  in  this  world ! 
Thou  must  be  beaten,  suffer  hunger,  cold,  nakedness,  and  a 
thousand  calamities,  though  I  cannot  now  endure  the  wind 
should  blow  on  thee.  But  yet,  thought  I,  I  must  venture 
all  with  God,  though  it  goeth  to  the  quick  to  leave  you. 
I  was  as  a  man  who  was  pulling  down  his  house  upon  the 
head  of  his  wife  and  children.  Yet,  thought  I,  I  must  do 
it — I  must  do  it.  I  had  this  for  consideration,  that  if  I 
should  now  venture  all  for  God,  I  engaged  God  to  take 
care  of  my  concernments.  Also,  I  had  dread  of  the  tor- 
ments of  hell,  which  I  was  sure  they  must  partake  of  that 
for  fear  of  the  cross  do  shrink  from  their  profession.  I 
had  this  much  upon  my  spirit,  that  my  imprisonment 
might  end  in  the  gallows  for  aught  I  could  tell.  In  the 
condition  I  now  was  in  I  was  not  fit  to  die,  nor  indeed 
did  I  think  I  could  if  I  should  be  called  to  it.  I  feared  I 
might  show  a  weak  heart,  and  give  occasion  to  the  enemy. 
This  lay  with  great  trouble  on  me,  for  methought  I  was 
ashamed  to  die  with  a  pale  face  and  tottering  knees  for 
such  a  cause  as  this.  The  things  of  God  were  kept  out  of 
my  sight.  The  tempter  followed  me  with,  *But  whither 
F    4*  • 


76  BUNYAN.  [chap,  v. 

must  you  go  when  you  die?  What  will  become  of  you? 
What  evidence  have  you  for  heaven  and  glory,  and  an  in- 
heritance among  them  that  are  sanctified?'  Thus  was  I 
tossed  many  weeks ;  but  I  felt  it  was  for  the  Word  and 
way  of  God  that  I  was  in  this  condition.  God  might  give 
me  comfort  or  not  as  He  pleased.  I  was  bound,  but  He 
was  free — yea,  it  was  my  duty  to  stand  to  His  Word, 
whether  He  would  ever  look  upon  me  or  no,  or  save  me  at 
the  last.  Wherefore,  thought  I,  the  point  being  thus,  I  am 
for  going  on  and  venturing  my  eternal  state  with  Christ, 
whether  I  have  comfort  here  or  no.  If  God  does  not 
come  in,  thought  I,  I  will  leap  off  the  ladder  even  blind- 
fold into  eternity,  sink  or  swim,  come  heaven,  come  hell. 
Now  was  my  heart  full  of  comfort." 

The  ladder  was  an  imaginary  ladder,  but  the  resolution 
was  a  genuine  manly  one,  such  as  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all 
brave  and  honourable  action.  Others  who  have  thought 
very  differently  from  Bunyan  about  such  matters  have  felt 
the  same  as  he  felt.  Be  true  to  yourself,  whatever  comes, 
even  if  damnation  come.  Better  hell  with  an  honest  heart, 
than  heaven  with  cowardice  and  insincerity.  It  was  the 
more  creditable  to  Bunyan,  too,  because  the  spectres  and 
hobgoblins  had  begun  occasionally  to  revisit  him. 

"  Of  all  temptations  I  ever  met  with  in  my  life,"  he  says, 
"  to  question  the  being  of  God  and  the  truth  of  His  Gos- 
pel is  the  worst,  and  worst  to  be  borne.  When  this  temp- 
tation comes,  it  takes  my  girdle  from  me,  and  removes  the 
foundation  from  under  me.  Though  God  has  visited  my 
soul  with  never  so  blessed  a  discovery  of  Himself,  yet  af- 
terwards I  have  been  in  my  spirit  so  filled  with  darkness, 
that  I  could  not  so  much  as  once  conceive  what  that  God 
and  that  comfort  was  with  which  I  had  been  refreshed." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    BEDFORD    GAOL. 

The  irregularities  in  the  proceedings  against  Bunyan  had 
perhaps  been  suggested  by  the  anticipation  of  the  gen- 
eral pardon  which  was  expected  in  the  following  spring. 
At  the  coronation  of  Charles,  April  23, 1661,  an  order  was 
issued  for  the  release  of  prisoners  who  were  in  gaol  for 
any  offences  short  of  felony.  Those  who  were  waiting 
their  trials  were  to  be  let  go  at  once.  Those  convicted 
and  under  sentence  might  sue  out  a  pardon  under  the 
Great  Seal  at  any  time  within  a  year  from  the  proclama- 
tion. Was  Bunyan  legally  convicted  or  not?  He  had 
not  pleaded  directly  to  the  indictment.  No  evidence  had 
been  heard  against  him.  His  trial  had  been  a  conversa- 
tion between  himself  and  the  Court.  The  point  had  been 
raised  by  his  friends.  His  wife  had  been  in  London  to 
make  interest  for  him,  and  a  peer  had  presented  a  petition 
in  Bunyan's  behalf  in  the  House  of  Lords.  The  judges 
had  been  directed  to  look  again  into  the  matter  at  the 
midsummer  assizes.  The  high-sheriff  was  active  in  Bun- 
yan's favour.  The  Judges  Twisden,  Chester,  and  no  less  a 
person  than  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  appear  to  have  concluded 
that  his  conviction  was  legal,  that  he  could  not  be  tried 
again,  and  that  he  must  apply  for  pardon  in  the  regular 
way.      His  wife,  however,  at  the  instance  of  the  sheriff, 


18  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

obtained  a  hearing,  and  they  listened  courteously  to  what 
she  had  to  say.  When  she  had  done,  Mr.  Justice  Twisden 
put  the  natural  question,  whether,  if  her  husband  was  re- 
leased, he  would  refrain  from  preaching  in  public  for  the 
future.  If  he  intended  to  repeat  his  offence  immediately 
that  he  was  at  liberty,  his  liberty  would  only  bring  him 
into  a  worse  position.  The  wife  at  once  said  that  he  dared 
not  leave  off  preaching  as  long  as  he  could  speak.  The 
judge  asked  if  she  thought  her  husband  was  to  be  allowed 
to  do  as  he  pleased.  She  said  that  he  was  a  peaceable 
person,  and  wished  only  to  be  restored  to  a  position  in 
which  he  could  maintain  his  family.  They  had  four  small 
children  who  could  not  help  themselves,  one  of  them  being 
blind,  and  they  had  nothing  to  live  upon  as  long  as  her 
husband  was  in  prison  but  the  charity  of  their  friends. 
Hale  remarked  that  she  looked  very  young  to  have  four 
children.  "  I  am  but  mother-in-law  to  them,"  she  said, 
"  having  not  been  married  yet  full  two  years.  I  was  with 
child  when  my  husband  was  first  apprehended,  but  being 
young,  I  being  dismayed  at  the  news  fell  in  labour,  and  so 
continued  for  eight  days.  I  was  delivered,  but  my  child 
died." 

Hale  was  markedly  kind.  He  told  her  that,  as  the  con- 
viction had  been  recorded,  they  could  not  set  it  aside. 
She  might  sue  out  a  pardon  if  she  pleased,  or  she  might 
obtain  "  a  writ  of  error,"  which  would  be  simple  and  less 
expensive. 

She  left  the  court  in  tears — tears,  however,  which  were 
not  altogether  tears  of  suffering  innocence.  "  It  was  not 
so  much,"  she  said, "  because  they  were  so  hardhearted 
against  me  and  my  husband,  but  to  think  what  a  sad  ac- 
count such  poor  creatures  would  have  to  give  at  the  com- 
ing  of  the   Lord."      No   doubt  both  Bunyan   and   she 


Ti.]  THE  BEDFORD  GAOL.  V» 

thought  themselves  cruelly  injured,  and  they  confounded 
the  law  with  the  administration  of  it.  Persons  better  in- 
formed than  they  often  choose  to  forget  that  judges  are 
sworn  to  administer  the  law  which  they  find,  and  rail  at 
them  as  if  the  sentences  which  they  are  obliged  by  their 
oaths  to  pass  were  their  own  personal  acts. 

A  pardon,  it  cannot  be  too  often  said,  would  have  been 
of  no  use  to  Bunyan,  because  he  was  deterrbined  to  per- 
severe in  disobeying  a  law  which  he  considered  to  be  un- 
just. The  most  real  kindness  which  could  be  shown  to 
him  was  to  leave  him  where  he  was.  His  imprisonment 
was  intended  to  be  little  more  than  nominal.  His  gaoler, 
not  certainly  without  the  sanction  of  the  sheriff,  let  him 
go  where  he  pleased;  once  even  so  far  as  London.  He 
used  his  liberty  as  he  had  declared  that  he  would.  "I 
followed  my  wonted  course  of  preaching,"  he  says,  "  tak- 
ing all  occasions  that  were  put  in  my  hand  to  visit  the 
people  of  God."  This  was  deliberate  defiance.  The  au- 
thorities saw  that  he  must  be  either  punished  in  earnest, 
or  the  law  would  fall  into  contempt.  He  admitted  that 
he  expected  to  be  "  roundly  dealt  with."  His  indulgences 
were  withdrawn,  and  he  was  put  into  close  confinement. 

Sessions  now  followed  sessions,  and  assizes,  assizes.  His 
detention  was  doubtless  irregular,  for  by  law  he  should 
have  been  sent  beyond  the  seas.  He  petitioned  to  be 
brought  to  trial  again,  and  complained  loudly  that  his 
petition  was  not  listened  to ;  but  no  legislator,  in  framing 
an  Act  of  Parliament,  ever  contemplated  an  offender  in 
so  singular  a  position.  Bunyan  was  simply  trying  his 
strength  against  the  Crown  and  Parliament.  The  judges 
and  magistrates  respected  his  character,  and  were  unwill- 
ing to  drive  him  out  of  the  country ;  he  had  himself  no 
wish  for  liberty  on  that  condition.     The  only  resource. 


80  BDNYAN.  [chap. 

therefore,  was  to  prevent  him  forcibly  from  repeating  an 
offence  that  would  compel  them  to  adopt  harsh  measures 
which  they  were  so  earnestly  trying  to  avoid. 

Such  was  the  world-famous  imprisonment  of  John  Bun- 
yan,  which  has  been  the  subject  of  so  much  eloquent  dec- 
lamation. It  lasted  in  all  for  more  than  twelve  years.  It 
might  have  ended  at  any  time  if  he  would  have  promised 
to  confine  his  addresses  to  a  private  circle.  It  did  end 
after  six  years.  He  was  released  under  the  first  declara- 
tion of  indulgence ;  but  as  he  instantly  recommenced  his 
preaching,  he  was  arrested  again.  Another  six  years  went 
by ;  he  was  again  let  go,  and  was  taken  once  more  im- 
mediately after,  preaching  in  a  wood.  This  time  he  was 
detained  but  a  few  months,  and  in  form  more  than  reality. 
The  policy  of  the  government  was  then  changed,  and  he 
was  free  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

His  condition  during  his  long  confinement  has  furnished 
a  subject  for  pictures  which  if  correct  would  be  extremely 
affecting.  It  is  true  that,  being  unable  to  attend  to  his 
usual  business,  he  spent  his  unoccupied  hours  in  making 
tags  for  boot-laces.  With  this  one  fact  to  build  on,  and 
with  the  assumption  that  the  scene  of  his  sufferings  was 
the  Bridge  Lockhouse,  Nonconformist  imagination  has 
drawn  a  "  den  "  for  us,  "  where  there  was  not  a  yard  or  a 
court  to  walk  in  for  daily  exercise ;"  "  a  damp  and  dreary 
cell ;"  "  a  narrow  chink  which  admits  a  few  scanty  rays 
of  light  to  render  visible  the  abode  of  woe ;"  "  the  pris- 
oner, pale  and  emaciated,  seated  on  the  humid  earth,  pur- 
suing his  daily  task,  to  earn  the  morsel  which  prolongs  his 
existence  and  his  confinement  together.  Near  him,  reclin- 
ing in  pensive  sadness,  his  blind  daughter,  five  other  dis- 
tressed children,  and  an  affectionate  wife,  whom  pinching 
want  and  grief  have  worn  down  to  the  gate  of  death.    Ten 


VI.]  THE  BEDFORD  GAOL.  81 

summer  suns  have  rolled  over  the  mansion  of  his  misery 
whose  reviving  rays  have  never  once  penetrated  his  sad 
abode,"  &c.,  &c. 

K  this  description  resembles  or  approaches  the  truth, 
I  can  but  say  that  to  have  thus  abandoned  to  want  their 
most  distinguished  pastor  and  his  family  was  intensely 
discreditable  to  the  Baptist  community.  English  prisons 
in  the  seventeenth  century  were  not  models  of  good  man- 
agement. But  prisoners,  whose  friends  could  pay  for 
them,  were  not  consigned  to  damp  and  dreary  cells ;  and 
in  default  of  evidence  of  which  not  a  particle  exists,  I  can- 
not charge  so  reputable  a  community  with  a  neglect  so 
scandalous.  The  entire  story  is  in  itself  incredible.  Bun- 
yan  was  prosperous  in  his  business.  He  was  respected 
and  looked  up  to  by  a  large  and  growing  body  of  citizens, 
including  persons  of  wealth  and  position  in  London.  He 
was  a  representative  sufferer  fighting  the  battle  of  all  the 
Nonconformists  in  England.  He  had  active  supporters  in 
the  town  of  Bedford  and  among  the  gentlemen  of  the 
county.  The  authorities,  so  far  as  can  be  inferred  from 
their  actions,  tried  from  the  first  to  deal  as  gently  with 
him  as  he  would  allow  them  to  do.  Is  it  conceivable  that 
the  Baptists  would  have  left  his  family  to  starve ;  or  that 
his  own  confinement  would  have  been  made  so  absurdly 
and  needlessly  cruel?  Is  it  not  far  more  likely  that  he 
found  all  the  indulgences  which  money  could  buy  and  the 
rules  of  the  prison  would  allow  ?  Bunyan  is  not  himself 
responsible  for  these  wild  legends.  Their  real  character 
appears  more  clearly  when  we  observe  how  he  was  oc- 
cupied during  these  years. 

Friends,  in  the  first  place,  had  free  access  to  him,  and 
strangers  who  were  drawn  to  him  by  reputation ;  while 
the  gaol  was  considered  a  private  place,  and  he  was  al- 


82  BTJNYAN.  [chap. 

lowed  to  preach  there,  at  least  occasionally,  to  his  fellow- 
prisoners.  Charles  Doe,  a  distinguished  Nonconformist, 
visited  him  in  his  confinement,  and  has  left  an  account 
of  what  he  saw.  "  When  I  was  there,"  he  writes,  "  there 
were  about  sixty  dissenters  besides  himself,  taken  but  a 
little  before  at  a  religious  meeting  at  Kaistor,  in  the  county 
of  Bedford,  besides  two  eminent  dissenting  ministers,  Mr. 
Wheeler  and  Mr.  Dun,  by  which  means  the  prison  was 
much  crowded.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  all  that  hurry,  I 
heard  Mr.  Bunyan  both  preach  and  pray  with  that  mighty 
spirit  of  faith  and  plerophory  of  Divine  assistance,  that 
he  made  me  stand  and  wonder.  Here  they  could  sing 
without  fear  of  being  overheard,  no  informers  prowling 
round,  and  the  world  shut  out." 

This  was  not  all.  A  fresh  and  more  severe  Conventicle 
Act  was  passed  in  1670.  Attempts  were  made  to  levy 
fines  in  the  town  of  Bedford.  There  was  a  riot  there. 
The  local  oflBcers  refused  to  assist  in  quelling  it.  The 
shops  were  shut.  Bedford  was  occupied  by  soldiers. 
Yet,  at  this  very  time,  Bunyan  was  again  allowed  to  go 
abroad  through  general  connivance.  He  spent  his  nights 
with  his  family.  He  even  preached  now  and  then  in  the 
woods.  Once,  when  he  had  intended  to  be  out  for  the 
night,  information  was  given  to  a  clerical  magistrate  in 
the  neighbourhood,  who  disliked  him,  and  a  constable  was 
sent  to  ascertain  if  the  prisoners  were  all  within  ward. 
Bunyan  had  received  a  hint  of  what  was  coming.  Ho 
was  in  his  place  when  the  constable  came;  and  the  gov- 
ernor of  the  gaol  is  reported  to  have  said  to  hira,  "  You 
may  go  out  when  you  please,  for  you  know  better  when 
to  return  than  I  can  tell  you."  Parliament  might  pass 
laws,  but  the  execution  of  them  depended  on  the  local 
authorities.     Before  the  Declaration  of  Indulgence,  the 


tl]  the  BEDFORD  GAOL.  88 

Baptist  church  in  Bedford  was  reopened.  Bunyan,  while 
still  nominally  in  confinement,  attended  its  meetings.  In 
1671  he  became  an  Elder;  in  December  of  that  year  he 
was  chosen  Pastor.  The  question  was  raised  whether,  as 
a  prisoner,  he  was  eligible.  The  objection  would  not  have 
been  set  aside  had  he  been  unable  to  undertake  the  duties 
of  the  office.  These  facts  prove  conclusively  that,  for  a 
part  at  least  of  the  twelve  years,  the  imprisonment  was 
little  more  than  formal.  He  could  not  have  been  in  the 
Bridge  gaol  when  he  had  sixty  fellow-prisoners,  and  was 
able  to  preach  to  them  in  private.  It  is  unlikely  that  at 
any  time  he  was  made  to  suffer  any  greater  hardships  than 
were  absolutely  inevitable. 

But  whether  Bunyan's  confinement  was  severe  or  easy, 
it  was  otlierwise  of  inestimable  value  to  him.  It  gave 
him  leisure  to  read  and  reflect.  Though  he  preached 
often,  yet  there  must  have  been  intervals,  perhaps  long  in- 
tervals, of  compulsory  silence.  The  excitement  of  per- 
petual speech-making  is  fatal  to  the  exercise  of  the  higher 
qualities.  The  periods  of  calm  enabled  him  to  discover 
powers  in  himself  of  which  he  might  otherwise  have  never 
known  the  existence.  Of  books  he  had  but  few;  for  a 
time  only  the  Bible  and  Foxe's  Martyrs.  But  the  Bible 
thoroughly  known  is  a  literature  of  itself — the  rarest  and 
richest  in  all  departments  of  thought  or  imagination  which 
exists.  Foxe's  Martyrs,  if  he  had  a  complete  edition  of 
it,  would  have  given  him  a  very  adequate  knowledge  of  I 
history.  With  those  two  books  he  had  no  cause  to  com-  ! 
plain  of  intellectual  destitution.  He  must  have  read  more, 
however.  He  knew  George  Herbert — perhaps  Spenser — 
perhaps  Paradise  Lost.  But  of  books,  except  of  the  Bible, 
he  was  at  no  time  a  great  student.  Happily  for  himself, 
he  had  no  other  book  of  Divinity,  and  he  needed  none. 


84  BUNYAN.  [ceap. 

His  real  study  was  human  life  as  he  had  seen  it,  and  the 
human  heart  as  he  had  experienced  the  workings  of  it. 
Though  he  never  mastered  successfully  the  art  of  verse,  he 
had  other  gifts  which  belong  to  a  true  poet.  He  had  im- 
agination, if  not  of  the  highest,  yet  of  a  very  high  order. 
He  had  infinite  inventive  humour,  tenderness,  and,  better 
than  all,  powerful  masculine  sense.  To  obtain  the  use  of 
these  faculties  he  needed  only  composure,  and  this  his  im- 
prisonment secured  for  him.  He  had  published  several 
theological  compositions  before  his  arrest,  which  have  rela- 
tively little  value.  Those  which  he  wrote  in  prison — even 
on  theological  subjects — would  alone  have  made  him  a  rep- 
utation as  a  Nonconformist  divine.  In  no  other  writings 
are  the  peculiar  views  of  Evangelical  Calvinism  brought 
out  more  clearly,  or  with  a  more  heartfelt  conviction  of 
their  truth.  They  have  furnished  an  arsenal  from  which 
English  Protestant  divines  have  ever  since  equipped  them- 
selves. The  most  beautiful  of  them,  Grace  Abounding  to 
the  Chief  of  Sinners,  is  his  own  spiritual  biography,  which 
contains  the  account  of  his  early  history.  The  first  part 
of  The  Pilgrim^s  Progress  was  composed  there  as  an 
amusement.  To  this,  and  to  his  other  works  which  belong 
to  literature,  I  shall  return  in  a  future  chapter. 

Visitors  who  saw  him  in  the  gaol  found  his  manner  and 
presence  as  impressive  as  his  writings.  "  He  was  mild 
and  affable  in  conversation,"  says  one  of  them,  "  not  given 
to  loquacity  or  to  much  discourse,  unless  some  urgent  oc- 
casion required.  It  was  observed  he  never  spoke  of  him- 
self or  of  his  talents,  but  seemed  low  in  his  own  eyes. 
He  was  never  heard  to  reproach  or  revile  any,  whatever 
injury  he  received,  but  rather  rebuked  those  who  did  so. 
He  managed  all  things  with  such  exactness  as  if  he  had 
made  it  his  study  not  to  give  offence." 


VI.]  THE  BEDFORD  GAOL.  86 

The  final  Declaration  of  Indulgence  came  at  last,  bring- 
ing with  it  the  privilege  for  which  Bunyan  had  fought 
and  suffered.  Charles  II.  cared  as  little  for  liberty  as  his 
father  or  his  brother,  but  he  wished  to  set  free  the  Cath- 
olics, and  as  a  step  towards  it  he  conceded  a  general  tol- 
eration to  the  Protestant  Dissenters.  Within  two  years 
of  the  passing  of  the  Conventicle  Act  of  1670,  this  and 
every  other  penal  law  against  Nonconformists  was  sus- 
pended. They  were  allowed  to  open  their  "meeting- 
houses" for  "worship  and  devotion,"  subject  only  to  a 
few  easy  conditions.  The  localities  were  to  be  specified 
in  which  chapels  were  required,  and  the  ministers  were  to 
receive  their  licenses  from  the  Crown.  To  prevent  suspi- 
cions, the  Roman  Catholics  were  for  the  present  excluded 
from  the  benefit  of  the  concession.  Mass  could  be  said, 
as  before,  only  in  private  houses.  A  year  later,  the  Proc- 
lamation was  confirmed  by  Act  of  Parliament. 

Thus  Bunyan's  long  imprisonment  was  ended.  The 
cause  was  won.  He  had  been  its  foremost  representative 
and  champion,  and  was  one  of  the  first  persons  to  receive 
the  benefit  of  the  change  of  policy.  He  was  now  forty- 
four  years  old.  The  order  for  his  release  was  signed  on 
May  8, 1672.  His  license  as  pastor  of  the  Baptist  chapel 
at  Bedford  was  issued  on  the  9th.  He  established  himself 
in  a  small  house  in  the  town.  "  When  he  came  abroad," 
says  one,  "he  found  his  temporal  affairs  were  gone  to 
wreck,  and  he  had,  as  to  them,  to  begin  again  as  if  he  had 
newly  come  into  the  world.  But  yet  he  was  not  destitute 
of  friends  who  had  all  along  supported  him  with  neces- 
saries, and  had  been  very  good  to  his  family ;  so  that  by 
their  assistance,  getting  things  a  little  about  him  again,  he 
resolved,  as  much  as  possible,  to  decline  worldly  business, 
and  give  himself  wholly  up  to  the  service  of  God."    As 


86  BUNTAN.  [cuat. 

much  as  possible;  but  not  entirely.  In  1685, being  afraid 
of  a  return  of  persecution,  he  made  over,  as  a  precaution, 
his  whole  estate  to  his  wife :  "  All  and  singular  his  goods, 
chattels,  debts,  ready  money,  plate,  rings,  household  stuff, 
apparel,  utensils,  brass,  pewter,  bedding,  and  all  his  other 
substance."  In  this  deed  he  still  describes  himself  as  a 
brazier.  The  language  is  that  of  a  man  in  easy,  if  not 
ample,  circumstances.  "  Though,  by  reason  of  losses  which 
he  sustained  by  imprisonment,"  says  another  biographer, 
"  his  treasures  swelled  not  to  excess,  he  always  had  suflS- 
cient  to  live  decently  and  creditably."  His  writings  and 
his  sufferings  had  made  him  famous  throughout  England. 
He  became  the  actual  head  of  the  Baptist  community. 
Men  called  him,  half  in  irony,  half  in  seriousness.  Bishop 
Bunyan,  and  he  passed  the  rest  of  his  life  honourably  and 
innocently,  occupied  in  writing,  preaching,  district  visiting, 
and  opening  daughter  churches.  Happy  in  his  work,  hap- 
py in  the  sense  that  his  influence  was  daily  extending — 
spreading  over  his  own  country,  and  to  the  far-off  settle- 
ments in  America,  he  spent  his  last  years  in  his  own  Land 
of  Beulah,  Doubting  Castle  out  of  sight,  and  the  towers 
and  minarets  of  Emmanuel  Land  growing  nearer  and  clear- 
er as  the  days  went  on. 

He  had  not  detected,  or  at  least,  at  first,  he  did  not  de- 
tect, the  sinister  purpose  which  lay  behind  the  Indulgence. 
The  exception  of  the  Roman  Catholics  gave  him  perfect 
confidence  in  the  Government,  and  after  his  release  he 
published  a  Discourse  upon  Antichrist,  with  a  preface,  in 
which  he  credited  Charles  with  the  most  righteous  inten- 
tions, and  urged  his  countrymen  to  be  loyal  and  faithful 
to  him.  His  object  in  writing  it,  he  said,  "  was  to  testify 
his  loyalty  to  the  King,  his  love  to  the  brethren,  and  his 
service  to  his  country."     Antichrist  was,  of  course,  the 


TI.J  THE  BEDFORD  GAOL.  81 

Pope,  the  deadliest  of  all  enemies  to  vital  Christianity. 
To  its  kings  and  princes  England  owed  its  past  deliver- 
ance from  him.  To  kings  England  must  look  for  his  final 
overthrow. 

"As  the  noble  King  Henry  VIII.  did  cast  down  the 
Antichristian  worship,  so  he  cast  down  the  laws  that  held 
it  up ;  so  also  did  the  good  King  Edward,  his  son.  The 
brave  Queen  Elizabeth,  also,  the  sister  of  King  Edward, 
left  of  things  of  this  nature,  to  her  lasting  fame,  behind 
her."  Cromwell  he  dared  not  mention — perhaps  he  did 
not  wish  to  mention  him.  But  he  evidently  believed  that 
there  was  better  hope  in  Charles  Stuart  than  in  conspiracy 
and  revolution. 

"  Kings,"  he  said,  "  must  be  the  men  that  shall  down 
with  Antichrist,  and  they  shall  down  with  her  in  God's 
time.  God  hath  begun  to  draw  the  hearts  of  some  of 
them  from  her  already,  and  He  will  set  them  in  time 
against  her  round  about.  If,  therefore,  they  do  not  that 
work  so  fast  as  we  would  have  them,  let  us  exercise  pa- 
tience and  hope  in  God.  'Tis  a  wonder  they  go  as  fast  as 
they  do,  since  the  concerns  of  whole  kingdoms  lie  upon 
their  shoulders,  and  there  are  so  many  Sanballats  and  To- 
bias's to  flatter  them  and  misinform  them.  Let  the  King 
have  visibly  a  place  in  your  hearts,  and  with  heart  and 
mouth  give  God  thanks  for  him.  He  is  a  better  Saviour 
of  us  than  we  may  be  aware  of,  and  hath  delivered  us 
from  more  deaths  than  we  can  tell  how  to  think.  We 
are  bidden  to  give  God  thanks  for  all  men,  and  in  the  first 
place  for  kings,  and  all  that  are  in  authority.  Be  not  an- 
gry with  them — no,  not  in  thy  thought.  But  consider,  if 
they  go  not  in  the  work  of  Reformation  so  fast  as  thou 
wouldest  they  should,  the  fault  may  be  thine.  Know  that 
thou  also  hast  thy  cold  and  chill  frames  of  heart,  and  sit- 


88  BUNYAN.  [chap.  vi. 

test  still  when  thou  shouldest  be  up  and  doing.  Pray  for 
the  long  life  of  the  King.  Pray  that  God  would  give  wis- 
dom and  judgment  to  the  King;  pray  that  God  would 
discern  all  plots  and  conspiracies  against  his  person  and 
government.  I  do  confess  myself  one  of  the  old-fashion- 
ed professors  that  wish  to  fear  God  and  honour  the  King. 
I  am  also  for  blessing  them  that  curse  me,  for  doing  good 
to  them  that  hate  me,  and  for  praying  for  them  that  de- 
spitefully  use  me  and  persecute  me ;  and  I  have  had  more 
peace  in  the  practice  of  these  things  than  all  the  world  are 
aware  of." 

The  Stuarts,  both  Charles  and  James,  were  grateful  for 
Bunyan's  services.  The  Nonconformists  generally  went 
up  and  down  in  Royal  favour;  lost  their  privileges  and 
regained  them  as  their  help  was  needed  or  could  be  dis- 
pensed with.  But  Bunyan  was  never  more  molested.  He 
did  what  he  liked.  He  preached  where  he  pleased,  and  no 
one  troubled  him  or  called  him  to  account.  He  was  not 
insincere.  His  constancy  in  enduring  so  long  an  impris- 
onment which  a  word  from  him  would  have  ended,  lifts 
him  beyond  the  reach  of  unworthy  suspicions.  But  he 
disapproved  always  of  violent  measures.  His  rule  was  to 
submit  to  the  law ;  and  where,  as  he  said,  he  could  not 
obey  actively,  then  to  bear  with  patience  the  punishment 
that  might  be  inflicted  on  him.  Perhaps  he  really  hoped, 
as  long  as  hope  was  possible,  that  good  might  come  out  of 
the  Stuarts. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

LIFE    AND    DEATH   OF   MR.  BADMAK. 

To  his  contemporaries  Bunyan  was  known  as  the  Noncon- 
formist Martyr,  and  the  greatest  li^dng  Protestant  preacher. 
To  us  he  is  mainly  interesting  through  his  writings,  and 
especially  through  The  Pilgrim^ s  Progress.  Although  he 
possessed  in  a  remarkable  degree  the  gift  of  expressing 
himself  in  written  words,  he  had  himself  no  value  for  litera- 
ture. He  cared  simply  for  spiritual  truth,  and  literature  in 
his  eyes  was  only  useful  as  a  means  of  teaching  it.  Every 
thing  with  which  a  reasonable  man  could  concern  himself 
was  confined  within  the  limits  of  Christian  faith  and  prac- 
tice. Ambition  was  folly.  Amusement  was  idle  trifling 
in  a  life  so  short  as  man's,  and  with  issues  so  far-reaching 
depending  upon  it.  To  understand,  and  to  make  others 
understand,  what  Christ  had  done,  and  what  Christ  re- 
quired men  to  do,  was  the  occupation  of  his  whole  mind, 
and  no  object  ever  held  his  attention  except  in  connection 
with  it.  With  a  purpose  so  strict,  and  a  theory  of  relig- 
ion so  precise,  there  is  usually  little  play  for  imagination 
or  feeling.  Though  we  read  Protestant  theology  as  a 
duty,  we  find  it  as  dry  in  the  mouth  as  sawdust.  The 
literature  which  would  please  must  represent  nature,  and 
nature  refuses  to  be  bound  into  our  dogmatic  systems. 
No  object  can  be  pictured  truly,  except  by  a  mind  which 
has  sympathy  with  it.     Shakspeare  no  more  hates  lago 


90  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

than  lago  hates  himself.  He  allows  lago  to  exhibit  him- 
self in  his  own  way,  as  nature  does.  Every  character,  if 
justice  is  to  be  done  to  it,  must  be  painted  at  its  best,  as 
it  appears  to  itself ;  and  a  man  impressed  deeply  with  re- 
ligious convictions  is  generally  incapable  of  the  sympathy 
which  would  give  him  an  insight  into  what  he  disapproves 
and  dislikes.  And  yet  Bunyan,  intensely  religious  as  he 
was,  and  narrow  as  his  theology  was,  is  always  human. 
His  genius  remains  fresh  and  vigorous  under  the  least 
promising  conditions.  All  mankind  being  under  sin  to- 
gether, he  has  no  favourites  to  flatter,  no  opponents  to  mis- 
represent. There  is  a  kindliness  in  his  descriptions  even 
of  the  Evil  One's  attacks  upon  himself. 

The  Pilgrim's  Progress,  though  professedly  an  allegoric 
«tory  of  the  Protestant  plan  of  salvation,  is  conceived  in 
the  large,  wide  spirit  of  humanity  itself.  Anglo-Catholic 
and  Lutheran,  Calvinist  and  Deist  can  alike  read  it  with 
delight,  and  find  their  own  theories  in  it.  Even  the  Ro- 
manist has  only  to  blot  out  a  few  paragraphs,  and  can  dis- 
cover no  purer  model  of  a  Christian  life  to  place  in  the 
hands  of  his  children.  The  religion  of  The  Pilgrim's 
Progress  is  the  religion  which  must  be  always  and  every- 
where, as  long  as  man  believes  that  he  has  a  soul  and  is 
responsible  for  his  actions ;  and  thus  it  is  that,  while  theo- 
logical folios  once  devoured  as  manna  from  Heaven  now 
lie  on  the  bookshelves  dead  as  Egyptian  mummies,  this 
book  is  wrought  into  the  mind  and  memory  of  every  well- 
conditioned  English  or  American  child ;  while  the  matured 
man,  furnished  with  all  the  knowledge  which  literature  can 
teach  him,  still  finds  the  adventures  of  Christian  as  charm- 
ing as  the  adventures  of  Ulysses  or  JEneas.  He  sees  there 
the  reflexion  of  himself,  the  familiar  features  of  his  own 
naturei  which  remain  the  same  from  era  to  era.     Time 


til]  life  and  death  OF  MR.  BADMAN.  91 

cannot  impair  its  interest,  or  intellectual  progress  make  it 
cease  to  be  true  to  experience. 

But  The  Pilgrim's  Progress,  though  the  best  known, 
is  not  the  only  work  of  imagination  which  Bunyan  pro- 
duced ;  he  wrote  another  religious  allegory,  which  Lord 
Macaulay  thought  would  have  been  the  best  of  its  kind  . 
in  the  world  if  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  had  not  existed.  / 
The  Life  of  Mr.  Badman,  though  now  scarcely  read  at  all,  \ 
contains  a  vivid  picture  of  rough  English  life  in  the  days  of  ' 
Charles  11.     Bunyan  was  a  poet,  too,  in  the  technical  sense 
of  the  word;  and  though  he  disclaimed  the  name,  and 
though  rhyme  and  metre  were  to  him  as  Saul's  armour  to 
David,  the  fine  quality  of  his  mind  still  shows  itself  in  the 
uncongenial  accoutrements. 

It  has  been  the  fashion  to  call  Bunyan's  verse  dog- 
gerel ;  but  no  verse  is  doggerel  which  has  a  sincere  and 
rational  meaning  in  it.  Goethe,  who  understood  his  own  1 
trade,  says  that  the  test  of  poetry  is  the  substance  which  ■ 
remains  when  the  poetry  is  reduced  to  prose.  Bunyan 
had  infinite  invention.  His  mind  was  full  of  objects 
which  he  had  gathered  at  first-hand,  from  observation  and 
reflection.  He  had  excellent  command  of  the  English 
language,  and  could  express  what  he  wished  with  sharp, 
defined  outlines,  and  without  the  waste  of  a  word.  The 
rhythmical  structure  of  his  prose  is  carefully  correct. 
Scarcely  a  syllable  is  ever  out  of  place.  His  ear  for  verse, 
though  less  true,  is  seldom  wholly  at  fault,  and,  whether  in 
prose  or  verse,  he  had  the  superlative  merit  that  he  could 
never  write  nonsense.  If  one  of  the  motives  of  poetical 
form  be  to  clothe  thought  and  feeling  in  the  dress  in 
which  it  can  be  most  easily  remembered,  Bunyan's  lines  are 
often  as  successful  as  the  best  lines  of  Quarles  or  George 
Herbert.  Who,  for  instance,  could  forget  these  ? — 
G     6  7 


92  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

"  Sin  is  the  worm  of  hell,  the  lasting  fire : 
Hell  would  soon  lose  its  heat  should  sin  expire ; 
Better  sinless  in  hell  than  to  be  where 
Hearen  is,  and  to  be  found  a  sinner  there." 

Or  these,  on  persons  whom  the  world  calls  men  of 
spirit : — 

"  Though  you  dare  crack  a  coward's  crown, 
Or  quarrel  for  a  pin. 
You  dare  not  on  the  wicked  frown, 
Or  speak  against  their  sin." 

The  Book  of  Ruth  and  the  History  of  Joseph,  ^on^  into 
blank  verse,  are  really  beautiful  idylls.  The  substance  with 
which  he  worked,  indeed,  is  so  good  that  there  would  be  a 
diflBculty  in  spoiling  it  completely ;  but  the  prose  of  the 
translation  in  the  English  Bible,  faultless  as  it  is,  loses 
nothing  in  Bunyan's  hands,  and  if  we  found  these  poems 
in  the  collected  works  of  a  poet  laureate,  we  should  con- 
sider that  a  difficult  task  had  been  accomplished  success- 
fully. Bunyan  felt,  like  the  translators  of  the  preceding 
century,  that  the  text  was  sacred,  that  his  duty  was  to  give 
the  exact  meaning  of  it,  without  epithets  or  ornaments,  and 
thus  the  original  grace  is  completely  preserved. 

Of  a  wholly  different  kind,  and  more  after  Quarles's  man- 
ner, is  a  collection  of  thoughts  in  verse,  which  he  calls  a 
book  for  boys  and  girls.  All  his  observations  ran  natu- 
rally in  one  direction ;  to  minds  possessed  and  governed  by 
religion,  nature — be  their  creed  what  it  may — is  always  a 
parable  reflecting  back  their  own  views. 

But  how  neatly  expressed  are  these  Meditations  upon  an 
Egg:— 

"  The  egg's  no  chick  by  faling  from  a  hen, 
Nor  man's  a  Christian  till  he's  bom  again ; 


vn.]  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.  93 

The  egg's  at  first  contained  in  the  shell, 
Men  afore  grace  in  sin  and  darkness  dwell ; 
The  egg,  when  laid,  by  warmth  is  made  a  chicken, 
And  Christ  by  grace  the  dead  in  sin  doth  quicken ; 
The  egg  when  first  a  chick  the  shell's  its  prison. 
So  flesh  to  soul  who  yet  with  Christ  is  risen." 

Or  this,  On  a  Swallow : — 

"  This  pretty  bird !    Oh,  how  she  flies  and  sings ; 
But  could  she  do  so  if  she  had  not  wings  ? 
Her  wings  bespeak  my  faith,  her  songs  my  peace ; 
When  I  believe  and  sing,  my  doubtings  cease. 

Though  the  Globe  Theatre  was,  in  the  opinion  of  Non- 
conformists, "  the  heart  of  Satan's  empire,"  Bunyan  must 
yet  have  known  something  of  Shakspeare.  In  the  second 
part  of  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  we  find  : — 

"  Who  would  true  valour  see, 
Let  him  come  hither ; 
One  here  will  constant  be. 
Come  wind,  come  weather." 

The  resemblance  to  the  song  in  As  You  Like  It  is  too 
near  to  be  accidental : — 

"  Who  doth  ambition  shun. 
And  loves  to  be  in  the  sun ; 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets. 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither. 
Here  shall  be  no  enemy. 
Save  winter  and  rough  weather." 

Bunyan  may,  perhaps,  have  heard  the  lines,  and  the 
rhymes  may  have  clung  to  him  without  his  knowing 
whence  they  came.  But  h»  would  never  have  been  heard 
of  outside  his  own  communion,  if  his  imagination  had 
found  no  better  form  of  expression  for  itself  than  verse. 


94  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

His  especial  gift  was  for  allegory,  the  single  form  of  im- 
aginative fiction  which  he  would  not  have  considered  triv- 
ial, and  his  especial  instrument  was  plain,  unaffected  Saxon 
prose.  The  Holy  War  is  a  people*s  Paradise  Lost  and 
Paradise  Regained  in  one.  The  Life  of  Mr.  Badman  is 
a  didactic  tale,  describing  the  career  of  a  vulgar,  middle- 
class,  unprincipled  scoundrel. 

These  are  properly  Bunyan's  "  works,"  the  results  of  his 
life,  so  far  as  it  affects  the  present  generation  of  English- 
men ;  and  as  they  are  little  known,  I  shall  give  an  account 
of  each  of  them. 

The  Life  of  Badman  is  presented  as  a  dialogue  between 
Mr.  Wiseman  and  Mr.  Attentive.  Mr.  Wiseman  tells  the 
story,  Mr.  Attentive  comments  upon  it.  The  names  recall 
Bunyan's  well-known  manner.  The  figures  stand  for 
typical  characters ;  but  as  the  dramatis  personce  of  many 
writers  of  fiction,  while  professing  to  be  beings  of  flesh 
and  blood,  are  no  more  than  shadows,  so  Bunyan's  shad- 
ows are  solid  men,  whom  we  can  feel  and  handle. 

Mr.  Badman  is,  of  course,  one  of .  the  "  reprobate." 
Bunyan  considered  theoretically  that  a  reprobate  may  to 
outward  appearance  have  the  graces  of  a  saint,  and  that 
there  may  be  little  in  his  conduct  to  mark  his  true  charac- 
ter. A  reprobate  may  be  sorry  for  his  sins,  he  may  repent 
and  lead  a  good  life.  He  may  reverence  good  men,  and 
may  try  to  resemble  them ;  he  may  pray,  and  his  prayers 
may  be  answered ;  he  may  have  the  spirit  of  God,  and 
may  receive  another  heart,  and  yet  he  may  be  under  the 
covenant  of  works,  and  may  be  eternally  lost.  This  Bun- 
yan could  say  while  he  was  writing  theology ;  but  art  has 
its  rules  as  well  as  its  more  serious  sister,  and  when  he 
had  to  draw  a  living  specimen,  he  drew  him  as  he  had 
seen  him  in  his  own  Bedford  neighbourhood. 


VII.]  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.  98 

Badraan  showed  from  childhood  a  propensity  for  evil. 
lie  was  so  '*  addicted  to  lying  that  his  parents  could  not 
distinguish  when  he  was  speaking  the  truth.  He  would 
invent,  tell,  and  stand  to  the  lies  which  he  invented,  with 
such  an  audacious  face,  that  one  might  read  in  his  very 
countenance  the  symptoms  of  a  hard  and  desperate  heart. 
It  was  not  the  fault  of  his  parents;  they  were  much  de- 
jected at  the  beginnings  of  their  son;  nor  did  he  want 
counsel  and  correction,  if  that  would  have  made  him  bet- 
ter ;  but  all  availed  nothing." 

Lying  was  not  Badman's  only  fault.  He  took  to  pil- 
fering and  stealing.  He  robbed  his  neighbours'  orchards. 
He  picked  up  money  if  he  found  it  lying  about.  Espe- 
cially, Mr.  Wiseman  notes  that  he  hated  Sundays.  "  Read- 
ing Scriptures,  godly  conferences,  repeating  of  sermons 
and  prayers,  were  things  that  he  could  not  away  with." 
"  He  was  an  enemy  to  that  day,  because  more  restraint  was 
laid  upon  him  from  his  own  ways  than  was  possible  on 
any  other."  Mr.  Wiseman  never  doubts  that  the  Puritan 
Sunday  ought  to  have  been  appreciated  by  little  boys.  If 
a  child  disliked  it,  the  cause  could  only  be  his  own  wicked- 
ness. Young  Badman  "  was  greatly  given  also  to  swearing 
and  cursing."  "  He  made  no  more  of  it "  than  Mr.  Wise- 
man made  "of  telling  his  fingers."  "He  counted  it  a 
glory  to  swear  and  curse,  and  it  was  as  natural  to  him  as 
to  eat,  drink,  or  sleep."  Bunyan,  in  this  description,  is 
supposed  to  have  taken  the  picture  from  himself.  But 
too  much  may  be  made  of  this.  He  was  thinking,  per- 
haps, of  what  he  might  have  been  if  God's  grace  had  not 
preserved  him.  He  himself  was  saved.  Badman  is  repre- 
sented as  given  over  from  the  first.  Anecdotes,  howev- 
er, are  told  of  contemporary  providential  judgments  upon 
swearers,  which  had  much  impressed  Bunyan.    One  was  of 


96  BUNYAN.  FrnAP. 

a  certain  Dorothy  Mately,  a  woman  whoso  business  was  to 
wash  rubbish  at  the  Derby  lead-mines.  Dorothy  (it  was 
in  the  year  when  Bunyan  was  first  imprisoned)  had  stolen 
twopence  from  the  coat  of  a  boy  who  was  working  near 
her.  When  the  boy  taxed  her  with  having  robbed  him, 
she  wished  the  ground  might  swallow  her  up  if  she  had 
ever  touched  his  money.  Presently  after,  some  children, 
who  were  watching  her,  saw  a  movement  in  the  bank  on 
which  she  was  standing.  They  called  to  her  to  take  care, 
but  it  was  too  late.  The  bank  fell  in,  and  she  was  carried 
down  along  with  it.  A  man  ran  to  help  her,  but  the  sides 
of  the  pit  were  crumbling  round  her:  a  large  stone  fell  on 
her  head ;  the  rubbish  followed,  and  she  was  overwhelmed. 
When  she  was  dug  out  afterwards,  the  pence  were  found 
in  her  pocket.  Bunyan  was  perfectly  satisfied  that  her 
death  was  supernatural.  To  discover  miracles  is  not  pecul- 
iar to  Catholics.  They  will  be  found  wherever  there  is  an 
active  belief  in  immediate  providential  government. 

Those  more  cautious  in  forming  their  conclusions  will 
think,  perhaps,  that  the  woman  was  working  above  some 
shaft  in  the  mine,  that  the  crust  had  suddenly  broken, 
and  that  it  would  equally  have  fallen  in,  when  gravitation 
required  it  to  fall,  if  Dorothy  Mately  had  been  a  saint. 
They  will  remember  the  words  about  the  Tower  of  Siloam. 
But  to  return  to  Badman. 

His  father,  being  unable  to  manage  so  unpromising  a 
child,  bound  him  out  as  an  apprentice.  The  master  to 
whom  he  was  assigned  was  as  good  a  man  as  the  father 
could  find :  upright.  God-fearing,  and  especially  consider- 
ate of  his  servants.  He  never  worked  them  too  hard.  He 
left  them  time  to  read  and  pray.  He  admitted  no  light  or 
mischievous  books  within  his  doors.  He  was  not  one  of 
those  whose  religion  ''  hung  as  a  cloke  in  his  house,  and 


vn.]  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.  91 

was  never  seen  on  him  when  he  went  abroad."  His  house- 
hold was  as  well  fed  and  cared  for  as  himself,  and  he  re- 
quired nothing  of  others  of  which  he  did  not  set  them  an 
example  in  his  own  person. 

This  man  did  his  best  to  reclaim  young  Badman,  and 
was  particularly  kind  to  him.  But  his  exertions  were 
thrown  away.  The  good-for-nothing  youth  read  filthy  ro- 
mances on  the  sly.  He  fell  asleep  in  church,  or  made  eyes 
at  the  pretty  girls.  He  made  acquaintance  with  low  com- 
panions. He  became  profligate,  got  drunk  at  ale-houses, 
sold  his  master's  propeity  to  get  money,  or  stole  it  out  of 
the  cash-box.  Thrice  he  ran  away  and  was  taken  back 
again.  The  third  time  he  was  allowed  to  go.  "The 
House  of  Correction  would  have  been  the  most  fit  for 
him,  but  thither  his  master  was  loath  to  send  him,  for 
the  love  he  bore  his  father." 

He  was  again  apprenticed;  this  time  to  a  master  like 
himself.  Being  wicked,  he  was  given  over  to  wickedness. 
The  ways  of  it  were  not  altogether  pleasant.  He  was  fed 
worse  and  he  was  worked  harder  than  he  had  been  before ; 
when  he  stole,  or  neglected  his  business,  he  was  beaten. 
He  liked  his  new  place,  however,  better  than  the  old. 
"  At  least,  there  was  no  godliness  in  the  house,  which  he 
hated  worst  of  all." 

So  far,  Bunyan's  hero  was  travelling  the  usual  road  of 
the  Idle  Apprentice,  and  the  gallows  would  have  been  the 
commonplace  ending  of  it.  But  this  would  not  have 
answered  Bunyan's  purpose.  He  wished  to  represent  the 
good-for-nothing  character,  under  the  more  instructive  as- 
pect of  worldly  success,  which  bad  men  may  arrive  at  as 
well  as  good,  if  they  are  prudent  and  cunning.  Bunyan 
gives  his  hero  every  chance.  He  submits  him  from  the 
first  to  the  best  influences ;  he  creates  opportunities  for  re* 


98  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

pentance  at  every  stage  of  a  long  career — opportunities 
which  the  reprobate  nature  cannot  profit  by,  yet  increases 
its  guilt  by  neglecting. 

Badman's  term  being  out,  his  father  gives  him  money 
and  sets  him  up  as  a  tradesman  on  his  own  account.  Mr. 
Attentive  considers  this  to  have  been  a  mistake.  Mr. 
Wiseman  answers  that,  even  in  the  most  desperate  cases, 
kindness  in  parents  is  more  likely  to  succeed  than  severity, 
and,  if  it  fails,  they  will  have  the  less  to  reproach  them- 
selves with.  The  kindness  is,  of  course,  thrown  away. 
Badman  continues  a  loose  blackguard,  extravagant,  idle, 
and  dissolute.  He  comes  to  the  edge  of  ruin.  His  situa- 
tion obliges  hira  to  think ;  and  now  the  interest  of  the 
story  begins.  He  must  repair  his  fortune  by  some  means 
or  other.  The  easiest  way  is  by  marriage.  There  was 
a  young  orphan  lady  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  was  well 
off  and  her  own  mistress.  She  was  a  "  professor,"  eager- 
ly given  to  religion,  and  not  so  wise  as  she  ought  to  have 
been.  Badman  pretends  to  be  converted.  He  reforms, 
or  seems  to  reform.  He  goes  to  meeting,  sings  hymns, 
adopts  the  most  correct  form  of  doctrine,  tells  the  lady 
that  he  does  not  want  her  money,  but  that  he  wants  a  com- 
panion who  will  go  with  him  along  the  road  to  Heaven. 
He  was  plausible,  good-looking,  and,  to  all  appearance,  as 
absorbed  as  herself  in  the  one  thing  needful.  The  con- 
gregation warn  her,  but  to  no  purpose.  She  marries  him, 
and  finds  what  she  has  done  too  late.  In  her  fortune  he 
has  all  that  he  wanted.  He  swears  at  her,  treats  her  bru- 
tally, brings  prostitutes  into  his  house,  laughs  at  her  relig- 
ion, and  at  length  orders  her  to  give  it  up.  When  she  re- 
fuses, Bunyan  introduces  a  special  feature  of  the  times,  and 
makes  Badman  threaten  to  turn  informer,  and  bring  her 
favourite  minister  to  gaol.     The  informers  were  the  natu' 


▼n.]  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.  99 

ral  but  most  accursed  products  of  the  Conventicle  Acts. 
Popular  abhorrence  relieved  itself  by  legends  of  the  dread- 
ful judgments  which  had  overtaken  these  wretches. 

In  St.  Neots  an  informer  was  bitten  by  a  dog.  The 
wound  gangrened,  and  the  flesh  rotted  off  his  bones.  In 
Bedford  "  there  was  one  W.  S."  (Bunyan  probably  knew 
him  too  well),  "  a  man  of  very  wicked  life,  and  he,  when 
there  seemed  to  be  countenance  given  it,  would  needs  turn 
informer.  Well,  so  he  did,  and  was  as  diligent  in  his  busi- 
ness as  most  of  them  could  be.  He  would  watch  at  nights, 
climb  trees,  and  range  the  woods  of  days,  if  possible  to  find 
out  the  meeters,  for  then  they  were  forced  to  meet  in  the 
fields.  Yea,  he  would  curse  them  bitterly,  and  swore  most 
fearfully  what  he  would  do  to  them  when  he  found  them. 
"Well,  after  he  had  gone  on  like  a  Bedlam  in  his  course 
awhile,  and  had  done  some  mischief  to  the  people,  he  was 
stricken  by  the  hand  of  God.  He  was  taken  with  a  falter- 
ing in  his  speech,  a  weakness  in  the  back  sinews  of  his 
neck,  that  ofttimes  he  held  up  his  head  by  strength  of 
band.  After  this  his  speech  went  quite  away,  and  he  could 
speak  no  more  than  a  swine  or  a  bear.  Like  one  of  them 
he  would  gruntle  and  make  an  ugly  noise,  according  as 
he  was  offended  or  pleased,  or  would  have  anything  done. 
He  walked  about  till  God  had  made  a  suflBcient  spectacle 
of  his  judgments  for  his  sin,  and  then,  on  a  sudden,  he 
was  stricken,  and  died  miserably." 

Badman,  says  Mr.  Wiseman,  "  had  malice  enough  in  his 
heart "  to  turn  informer,  but  he  was  growing  prudent  and 
had  an  eye  to  the  future.  As  a  tradesman  he  had  to  live 
by  his  neighbours.  He  knew  that  they  would  not  forgive 
him,  so  "  he  had  that  wit  in  his  auger  that  he  did  it  not." 
Nothing  else  was  neglected  to  make  the  unfortunate  wife 
miserable.  She  bore  him  seven  children,  also  typical  fig- 
5* 


100  BUNYAN.  [char 

nrcs.  "  One  was  a  very  gracious  cbild,  that  loved  its  moth- 
er dearly.  This  child  Mr.  Badman  could  not  abide,  and  it 
oftenest  felt  the  weight  of  its  father's  fingers.  Three  were 
as  bad  as  himself.  The  others  that  remained  became  a 
kind  of  mongrel  professors,  not  so  bad  as  their  father 
nor  so  good  as  their  mother,  but  betwixt  them  both. 
They  had  their  mother's  notions  and  their  father's  actions. 
Their  father  did  not  like  them  because  they  had  their 
mother's  tongue.  Their  mother  did  not  like  them  be- 
cause they  had  their  father's  heart  and  life,  nor  were  they 
fit  company  for  good  or  bad.  They  were  forced  with 
Esau  to  join  in  affinity  with  Ishmael — to  wit,  to  look  out 
for  a  people  that  were  hypocrites  like  themselves,  and 
with  them  they  matched  and  lived  and  died." 

Badman,  meanwhile,  with  the  help  of  his  wife's  fortune, 
grew  into  an  important  person,  and  his  character  becomes 
a  curious  study.  "  He  went,"  we  are  told,  "  to  school  with 
the  devil,  from  his  childhood  to  the  end  of  his  life."  He 
was  shrewd  in  matters  of  business,  began  to  extend  his  op- 
erations, and  "  drove  a  great  trade."  He  carried  a  double 
face.  Ho  was  evil  with  the  evil.  He  pretended  to  be 
good  with  the  good.  In  religion  he  affected  to  be  a  free- 
thinker, careless  of  death  and  judgment,  and  ridiculing 
those  who  feared  them  "  as  frighted  with  unseen  bug- 
bears." But  he  wore  a  mask  when  it  suited  him,  and  ad- 
mired himself  for  the  ease  with  which  he  could  assume 
whatever  aspect  was  convenient.  "  I  can  be  religious  and 
irreligious,"  he  said  ;  "  I  can  be  anything  or  nothing.  I 
can  swear,  and  speak  against  swearing.  I  can  lie,  and 
speak  against  lying.  I  can  drink,  wench,  be  unclean,  and 
defraud,  and  not  be  troubled  for  it.  I  can  enjoy  myself, 
and  am  master  of  my  own  ways,  not  they  of  me.  This 
I  have  attained  with  much  study,  care,  and  pains."     "An 


TO.]  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.  101 

Atheist  Badman  was,  if  such  a  thing  as  an  Atheist  could 
be.  He  was  not  alone  in  that  mystery.  There  was  abun- 
dance of  men  of  the  same  mind  and  the  same  principle. 
He  was  only  an  arch  or  chief  one  among  them." 

Mr.  Badman  now  took  to  speculation,  which  Bunyan's 
knowledge  of  business  enabled  him  to  describe  with  in- 
structive minuteness.  His  adventures  were  on  a  large 
scale,  and  by  some  mistakes  and  by  personal  extravagance 
he  had  nearly  ruined  himself  a  second  time.  In  this  con- 
dition he  discovered  a  means,  generally  supposed  to  be  a 
more  modem  invention,  of  "  getting  money  by  hatfuls." 

"He  gave  a  sudden  and  great  rush  into  several  men's 
debts  to  the  value  of  four  or  five  thousand  pounds,  driving 
at  the  same  time  a  very  great  trade  by  selling  many  things 
for  less  than  they  cost  him,  to  get  him  custom  and  blind 
his  creditors'  eyes.  When  he  had  well  feathered  his  nest 
with  other  men's  goods  and  money,  after  a  little  while  he 
breaks ;  while  he  had  by  craft  and  knavery  made  so  sure 
of  what  he  had  that  his  creditors  could  not  touch  a  pen- 
ny. He  sends  mournful,  sugared  letters  to  them,  desiring 
them  not  to  be  severe  with  him,  for  he  bore  towards  all 
men  an  honest  mind,  and  would  pay  them  as  far  as  he  was 
able.  He  talked  of  the  greatness  of  the  taxes,  the  badness 
of  the  times,  his  losses  by  bad  debts,  and  he  brought  them 
to  a  composition  to  take  five  shillings  in  the  pound.  His 
release  was  signed  and  sealed,  and  Mr.  Badman  could  now 
put  his  head  out-of-doors  again,  and  be  a  better  man  than 
when  he  shut  up  shop  by  several  thousands  of  pounds." 

Twice  or  three  times  he  repeated  the  same  trick  with 
equal  success.  It  is  likely  enough  that  Bunyan  was  draw- 
ing from  life,  and  perhaps  from  a  member  of  his  own  con- 
gregation ;  for  he  says  that  "  he  had  known  a  professor 
do  it."     He  detested  nothing  so  much  as  sham  religion, 


102  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

which  was  put  on  as  a  pretence.  "A  professor,"  he  ex- 
claims, "and  practise  such  villanies  as  these!  Such  an 
one  is  not  worthy  the  name.  Go,  professors,  go  —  leave 
oft  profession,  unless  you  will  lead  your  lives  according  to 
your  profession.  Better  never  profess  than  make  profes- 
sion a  stalking-horse  to  sin,  deceit,  the  devil,  and  hell." 

Bankruptcy  was  not  the  only  art  by  which  Badman 
piled  up  his  fortune.  The  seventeenth  century  was  not 
so  far  behind  us  as  we  sometimes  persuade  ourselves. 
"He  dealt  by  deceitful  weights  and  measures.  He  kept 
weights  to  buy  by,  and  weights  to  sell  by ;  measures  to 
buy  by,  and  measures  to  sell  by.  Those  he  bought  by 
were  too  big,  and  those  he  sold  by  were  too  little.  If  he 
had  to  do  with  other  men's  weights  and  measures,  he 
could  use  a  thing  called  sleight  of  hand.  He  had  the  art, 
besides,  to  misreckon  men  in  their  accounts,  whether  by 
weight  or  measure  or  money ;  and  if  a  question  was  made 
of  his  faithful  dealing,  he  had  his  servants  ready  that 
would  vouch  and  swear  to  his  look  or  word.  He  would 
sell  goods  that  cost  him  not  the  best  price  by  far,  for  as 
much  as  he  sold  his  best  of  all  for.  He  had  also  a  trick 
to  mingle  his  commodity,  that  that  which  was  bad  might 
go  off  with  the  least  mistrust.  If  any  of  his  customers 
paid  him  money,  he  would  call  for  payment  a  second 
time,  and  if  they  could  not  produce  good  and  suflBcient 
ground  of  the  payment,  a  hundred  to  one  but  they  paid 
it  again." 

"  To  buy  in  the  cheapest  market,  and  sell  in  the  dear- 
est," was  Mr.  Badman's  common  rule  in  business.  Ac- 
cording to  modem  political  economy,  it  is  the  cardinal 
principle  of  wholesome  trade.  In  Bunyan's  opinion  it  was 
knavery  in  disguise,  and  certain  to  degrade  and  demoral- 
ise every  one  who  acted  upon  it.     Bunyan  had  evidently 


m.]      LITE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.       103 

thought  on  the  subject.  Mr.  Attentive  is  made  to  ob- 
ject : — 

"  But  you  know  that  there  is  no  settled  price  set  by 
God  upon  any  commodity  that  is  bought  or  sold  under 
the  sun ;  but  all  things  that  we  buy  and  sell  do  ebb  and 
flow  as  to  price,  like  the  tide.  How  then  shall  a  man  of 
tender  conscience  do,  neither  to  wrong  the  seller,  buyer, 
nor  himself  in  the  buying  and  selling  of  commodities  ?" 

Mr.  Wiseman  answers  in  the  spirit  of  our  old  Acts  of 
Parliament,  before  political  economy  was  invented : — 

"Let  a  man  have  conscience  towards  God,  charity  to 
his  neighbours,  and  moderation  in  dealing.  Let  the  trades- 
man consider  that  there  is  not  that  in  great  gettings  and 
in  abundance  which  the  most  of  men  do  suppose;  for  all 
that  a  man  has  over  and  above  what  serves  for  his  present 
necessity  and  supply  serves  only  to  feed  the  lusts  of  the 
eye.  Be  thou  confident  that  God's  eyes  are  upon  thy 
ways ;  that  He  marks  them,  writes  them  down,  and  seals 
them  up  in  a  bag  against  the  time  to  come.  Be  sure  that 
thou  rememberest  that  thou  knowest  not  the  day  of  thy 
death.  Thou  shalt  have  nothing  that  thou  mayest  so 
much  as  carry  away  in  thy  hand.  Guilt  shall  go  with  thee 
if  thou  hast  gotten  thy  substance  dishonestly,  and  they  to 
whom  thou  shalt  leave  it  shall  receive  it  to  their  hurt. 
These  things  duly  considered,  I  will  shew  thee  how  thou 
should'st  live  in  the  practical  part  of  this  art.  Art  thou 
to  buy  or  sell  ?  If  thou  sellest,  do  not  commend.  If  thou 
buyest,  do  not  dispraise  any  otherwise  but  to  give  the 
thing  that  thou  hast  to  do  with  its  just  value  and  worth. 
Art  thou  a  seller,  and  do  things  grow  cheap  ?  set  not  thy 
hand  to  help  or  hold  them  up  higher.  Art  thou  a  buyer, 
and  do  things  grow  dear?  use  no  cunning  or  deceitful  lan- 
guage to  pull  them  down.    Leave  things  to  the  Providence 


104  BUFTAN.  [chap. 

of  God,  and  do  thou  with  moderation  submit  to  his  hand. 
Hurt  not  thy  neighbour  by  crying  out,  Scarcity,  scarcity ! 
beyond  the  truth  of  things.  Especially  take  heed  of  do- 
ing this  by  way  of  a  prognostic  for  time  to  come.  This 
wicked  thing  may  be  done  by  hoarding  up  (food)  when 
the  hunger  and  necessity  of  the  poor  calls  for  it.  If  things 
rise,  do  thou  be  grieved.  Be  also  moderate  in  all  thy  sell- 
ings, and  be  sure  let  the  poor  have  a  pennyworth,  and  sell 
thy  corn  to  those  who  are  in  necessity ;  which  thou  wilt 
do  when  thou  showest  mercy  to  the  poor  in  thy  selling  to 
him,  and  when  thou  undersellest  the  market  for  his  sake 
because  he  is  poor.  This  is  to  buy  and  sell  with  a  good 
conscience.  The  buyer  thou  wrongest  not,  thy  conscience 
thou  wrongest  not,  thyself  thou  wrongest  not,  for  God  will 
surely  recompense  with  thee." 

These  views  of  Bunyan's  are  at  issue  with  modem 
science,  but  his  principles  and  ours  are  each  adjusted  to 
the  objects  of  desire  which  good  men  in  those  days,  and 
good  men  in  ours,  have  respectively  set  before  themselves. 
If  wealth  means  money,  as  it  is  now  assumed  to  do,  Bun- 
yan  is  wrong,  and  modern  science  right.  If  wealth  means 
moral  welfare,  then  those  who  aim  at  it  will  do  well  to 
follow  Bunyan's  advice.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  this  part 
of  his  doctrine  is  less  frequently  dwelt  upon  by  those  who 
profess  to  admire  and  follow  him,  than  the  theory  of  im- 
puted righteousness  or  justification  by  faith. 

Mr.  Badman,  by  his  various  ingenuities,  became  a  wealthy 
man.  His  character  as  a  tradesman  could  not  have  been 
a  secret  from  his  neighbours,  but  money  and  success  col- 
oured it  over.  The  world  spoke  well  of  him.  He  be- 
came "  proud  and  haughty,"  took  part  in  public  affairs, 
"  counted  himself  as  wise  as  the  wisest  in  the  country,  as 
good  !is  the  best,  and  as  beautiful  as  he  that  had  the  most 


vn.]      LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.      106 

of  it."  "  He  took  great  delight  in  praising  himself,  and 
as  much  in  the  praises  that  others  gave  him."  "  He  could 
not  abide  that  any  should  think  themselves  above  him,  or 
that  their  wit  and  personage  should  be  by  others  set  be- 
fore his."  He  had  an  objection,  nevertheless,  to  being 
called  proud,  and  when  Mr.  Attentive  asked  why,  his  com- 
panion answered  with  a  touch  which  reminds  us  of  De 
Foe,  that  "  Badman  did  not  tell  him  the  reason.  He  sup- 
posed it  to  be  that  which  was  common  to  all  vile  persons. 
They  loved  their  vice,  but  cared  not  to  bear  its  name." 
Badman  said  he  was  unwilling  to  seem  singular  and  fan- 
tastical, and  in  this  way  he  justified  his  expensive  and  lux- 
urious way  of  living.  Singularity  of  all  kinds  he  affected 
to  dislike,  and  for  that  reason  his  special  pleasure  was  to 
note  the  faults  of  professors.  "  If  he  could  get  anything 
by  the  end  that  had  scandal  in  it — if  it  did  but  touch  pro- 
fessors, however  falsely  reported — oh,  then  he  would  glory, 
laugh  and  be  glad,  and  lay  it  upon  the  whole  party.  Hang 
these  rogues,  he  would  say,  there  is  not  a  barrel  better  her- 
ring in  all  the  holy  brotherhood  of  them.  Like  to  like, 
quote  the  devil  to  the  collier.  This  is  your  precise  crew, 
and  then  he  would  send  them  all  home  with  a  curse." 

Thus  Bunyan  developed  his  specimen  scoundrel,  till  he 
brought  him  to  the  high  altitudes  of  worldly  prosperity ; 
skilful  in  every  villanous  art,  skilful  equally  in  keeping 
out  of  the  law's  hands,  and  feared,  admired,  and  respect- 
ed by  all  his  neighbours.  The  reader  who  desires  to  see 
Providence  vindicated  would  now  expect  to  find  him 
detected  in  some  crimes  by  which  justice  could  lay  hold, 
and  poetical  retribution  fall  upon  him  in  the  midst  of  his 
triumph.  An  inferior  artist  would  certainly  have  allowed 
his  story  to  end  in  this  way.  But  Bunyan,  satisfied 
though  he  was  that  dramatic  judgments  did  overtake  of- 


106  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

fenders  in  this  world  with  direct  and  startling  appropriate- 
ness, was  yet  aware  that  it  was  often  otherwise,  and  that 
the  worst  fate  which  could  be  inflicted  on  a  completely 
worthless  person  was  to  allow  him  to  work  out  his  career 
unvisited  by  any  penalties  which  might  have  disturbed 
his  conscience  and  occasioned  his  amendment.  He  chose 
to  make  his  story  natural,  and  to  confine  himself  to  natural 
machinery.  The  judgment  to  come  Mr.  Badman  laughed 
at  "  as  old  woman's  fable,"  but  his  courage  lasted  only  as 
long  as  he  was  well  and  strong.  One  night,  as  he  was 
riding  home  drunk,  his  horse  fell,  and  he  broke  his  leg. 
"  You  would  not  think,"  says  Mr.  Wiseman,  "  how  he 
swore  at  first.  Then,  coming  to  himself,  and  finding  he 
was  badly  hurt,  he  cried  out,  after  the  manner  of  such. 
Lord,  help  me !  Lord,  have  mercy  on  me !  good  God,  deliver 
me !  and  the  like.  He  was  picked  up  and  taken  home, 
where  he  lay  some  time.  In  his  pain  he  called  on  God ; 
but  whether  it  was  that  his  sin  might  be  pardoned,  and 
his  soul  saved,  or  whether  to  be  rid  of  his  pain,"  Mr.  Wise- 
man "  could  not  determine."  This  leads  to  several  stories 
of  drunkards  which  Bunyan  clearly  believed  to  be  literally 
true.  Such  facts  or  legends  were  the  food  on  which  his 
mind  had  been  nourished.  They  were  in  the  air  which 
contemporary  England  breathed. 

"  I  have  read,  in  Mr.  Clarke's  Looking-gldss  for  Sinners, 
Mr.  Wiseman  said,  "  that  upon  a  time  a  certain  drunken 
fellow  boasted  in  his  cups  that  there  was  neither  heaven 
nor  hell.  Also,  he  said  he  believed  that  man  had  no  soul, 
and  that  for  his  own  part  he  would  sell  his  soul  to  any 
that  would  buy  it.  Then  did  one  of  his  companions  buy 
it  of  him  for  a  cup  of  winq,  and  presently  the  devil,  in 
man's  shape,  bought  it  of  that  man  again  at  the  same 
price ;  and  so,  in  the  presence  of  them  all,  laid  hold  of  the 


va]      LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.      107 

soul-seller,  and  carried  him  away  through  the  air,  so  that 
he  was  no  more  heard  of." 

Again : 

"  There  was  one  at  Salisbury  drinking  and  carousing  at 
a  tavern,  and  he  drank  a  health  to  the  devil,  saying  that 
if  the  devil  would  not  come  and  pledge  him,  he  could  not 
believe  that  there  was  either  God  or  devil.  Whereupon 
his  companions,  stricken  with  fear,  hastened  out  of  the 
room ;  and  presently  after,  hearing  a  hideous  noise  and 
smelling  a  stinking  savour,  the  vintner  ran  into  the  cham- 
ber, and  coming  in  he  missed  his  guest,  and  found  the 
window  broken,  the  iron  bars  in  it  bowed  and  all  bloody, 
but  the  man  was  never  heard  of  afterwards." 

These  visitations  were  answers  to  a  direct  challenge  of 
the  evil  spirit's  existence,  and  were  thus  easy  to  be  ac- 
counted for.  But  no  devil  came  for  Mr.  Badman.  He 
clung  to  his  unfortunate,  neglected  wife.  "  She  became 
his  dear  wife,  his  godly  wife,  his  honest  wife,  his  duck,  his 
dear  and  all."  He  thought  he  was  dying,  and  hell  and  all 
its  horrors  rose  up  before  him.  *'  Fear  was  in  his  face, 
and  in  his  tossings  to  and  fro  he  would  often  say,  I  am 
undone,  I  am  undone ;  my  vile  life  hath  undone  me  1" 
Atheism  did  not  help  him.  It  never  helped  anyone  in 
such  extremities,  Mr.  Wiseman  said,  as  he  had  known  in 
another  instance : — 

"There  was  a  man  dwelt  about  twelve  miles  off  from 
us,"  he  said,  "  that  had  so  trained  up  himself  in  his  Athe- 
istical notions,  that  at  last  he  attempted  to  write  a  book 
against  Jesus  Christ  and  the  Divine  authority  of  the 
Scriptures.  I  think  it  was  not  printed.  Well,  after  many 
days  God  struck  him  with  sickness,  whereof  he  died.  So, 
being  sick,  and  musing  of  his  former  doings,  the  book 
that  he  had  written  tore  his  conscience  as  a  lion  would 

H  H 


108  BtJNYAN.  [bHAP. 

tear  a  kid.  Some  of  my  friends  went  to  see  him ;  and  as 
they  were  in  his  chamber  one  day,  he  hastily  called  for 
pen  and  ink  and  paper,  which,  when  it  was  given  to  him, 
he  took  it  and  writ  to  this  purpose :  "  I,  such  an  one  in 
such  a  town,  must  go  to  hell-fire  for  writing  a  book  against 
Jesus  Christ."  He  would  have  leaped  out  of  the  window 
to  have  killed  himself,  but  was  by  them  prevented  of  that, 
so  he  died  in  his  bed  by  such  a  death  as  it  was." 

Badman  seemed  equally  miserable.  But  death -bed 
repentances,  as  Bunyan  sensibly  said,  were  seldom  of  more 
value  than  "  the  howling  of  a  dog."  The  broken  leg  was 
set  again.  The  pain  of  body  went,  and  with  it  the  pain 
of  mind.  "  He  was  assisted  out  of  his  uneasiness,"  says 
Bunyan,  with  a  characteristic  hit  at  the  scientific  views 
then  coming  into  fashion,  "  by  his  doctor,"  who  told  him 
that  his  alarms  had  come  "  from  an  affection  of  the  brain, 
caused  by  want  of  sleep;"  "they  were  nothing  but 
vapours  and  the  effects  of  his  distemper."  Hie  gathered 
his  spirits  together,  and  became  the  old  man  once  more. 
His  poor  wife,  who  had  believed  him  penitent,  broke  her 
heart,  and  died  of  the  disappointment.  The  husband  gave 
himself  up  to  loose  connections  with  abandoned  women, 
one  of  whom  persuaded  him  one  day,  when  he  was  drunk, 
to  make  her  a  promise  of  marriage,  and  she  held  him  to 
his  word.  Then  retribution  came  upon  him,  with  the 
coarse  commonplace,  yet  rigid  justice  which  fact  really 
deals  out.  The  second  bad  wife  avenged  the  wrongs  of 
the  first  innocent  wife.  He  was  mated  with  a  companion 
"  who  could  fit  him  with  cursing  and  swearing,  give  him 
oath  for  oath,  and  curse  for  curse.  They  would  fight,  and 
fly  at  each  other  like  cat  and  dog."  In  this  condition — 
for  Bunyan,  before  sending  his  hero  to  his  account,  gave 
him  a  protracted  spell  of  earthly  discomforts — ^they  lived 


Tn.]  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  BADMAN.  109 

sixteen  years  together.  Fortune,  who  had  so  long  favour- 
ed his  speculations,  turned  her  back  upon  him.  Between 
them  they  "sinned  all  his  wealth  away,"  and  at  last 
parted  *'  as  poor  as  howlets." 

Then  came  the  end.  Badman  was  still  in  middle  life, 
and  had  naturally  a  powerful  constitution ;  but  his  "  cups 
and  his  queans"  had  undermined  his  strength.  Dropsy 
came,  and  gout,  with  worse  in  his  bowels,  and  "  on  the 
top  of  them  all,  as  the  captain  of  the  men  of  death  that 
came  to  take  him  away,"  consumption.  Bunyan  was  a 
true  artist,  though  he  knew  nothing  of  the  rules,  and  was 
not  aware  that  he  was  an  artist  at  all.  He  was  not  to 
be  tempted  into  spoiling  a  natural  story  with  the  melo- 
dramatic horrors  of  a  sinner's  death-bed.  He  had  let  his 
victim  *'  howl "  in  the  usual  way,  when  he  meant  him  to 
recover.  He  had  now  simply  to  conduct  him  to  the  gate 
of  the  place  where  he  was  to  receive  the  reward  of  his  in- 
iquities. It  was  enough  to  bring  him  thither  still  impeni- 
tent, with  the  grave  solemnity  with  which  a  felon  is  taken 
to  execution. 

"  As  his  life  was  full  of  sin,"  says  Mr.  Wiseman,  "  so 
his  death  was  without  repentance.  He  had  not,  in  all  the 
time  of  his  sickness,  a  sight  and  a  sense  of  his  sins ;  but 
was  as  much  at  quiet  as  if  he  had  never  sinned  in  his  life ; 
he  was  as  secure  as  if  he  had  been  sinless  as  an  angel. 
When  he  drew  near  his  end,  there  was  no  more  alteration 
in  him  than  what  was  made  by  his  disease  upon  his  body. 
He  was  the  self-same  Mr.  Badman  still,  not  only  in  name 
but  in  condition,  and  that  to  the  very  day  of  his  death 
and  the  moment  in  which  he  died.  There  seemed  not  to 
be  in  it  to  the  standers-by  so  much  as  a  strong  struggle 
of  nature.  He  died  like  a  lamb,  or,  as  men  call  it,  like  a 
chrisom  child,  quietly  and  without  fear." 


110  BUNTAN.  [chap. 

To  which  end  of  Mr.  Badman  Bunyan  attaches  the  fol- 
lowing remarks :  *'  If  a  wicked  man,  if  a  man  who  has  lived 
all  his  days  in  notorious  sin,  dies  quietly,  his  quiet  dying 
is  so  far  from  being  a  sign  of  his  being  saved  that  it  is  an 
incontestable  proof  of  his  damnation.  No  man  can  be 
saved  except  he  repents ;  nor  can  he  repent  that  knows 
not  that  he  is  a  sinner :  and  he  that  knows  himself  to  be 
a  sinner  will,  I  warrant  him,  be  molested  for  his  knowledge 
before  he  can  die  quietly.  I  am  no  admirer  of  sick-bed 
repentance;  for  I  think  verily  it  is  seldom  good  for  any- 
thing. But  I  see  that  he  that  hath  lived  in  sin  and  pro- 
faneness  all  his  days,  as  Badman  did,  and  yet  shall  die 
quietly — that  is,  without  repentance  steps  in  between  his 
life  and  his  death — is  assuredly  gone  to  hell.  When  God 
would  show  the  greatness  of  his  anger  against  sin  and  sin- 
ners in  one  word,  He  saith.  Let  them  alone  !  Let  them 
alone — that  is,  disturb  them  not.  Let  them  go  on  with- 
out control.  Let  the  devil  enjoy  them  peaceably.  Let 
him  carry  them  out  of  the  world,  unconverted,  quietly. 
This  is  the  sorest  of  judgments.  I  do  not  say  that  all 
wicked  men  that  are  molested  at  their  death  with  a  sense 
of  sin  and  fear  of  hell  do  therefore  go  to  heaven ;  for  some 
are  made  to  see  and  are  left  to  despair.  But  I  say  there 
is  no  surer  sign  of  a  man's  damnation  than  to  die  quietly 
after  a  sinful  life — than  to  sin  and  die  with  a  heart  that 
cannot  repent.  The  opinion,  therefore,  of  the  common 
people  of  this  kind  of  death  is  frivolous  and  vain." 

So  ends  this  very  remarkable  story.  It  is  extremely 
interesting,  merely  as  a  picture  of  vulgar  English  life  in  a 
provincial  town,  such  as  Bedford  was  when  Bunyan  lived 
there.  The  drawing  is  so  good,  the  details  so  minute,  the 
conception  so  unexaggerated,  that  we  are  disposed  to  be- 
lieve that  we  must  have  a  real  history  before  us.     But  such 


Tn.]  LIFE  AND  DEATH  OF  MR.  B ADMAN.  Ill 

a  supposition  is  only  a  compliment  to  the  skill  of  the  com- 
poser. Banyan's  inventive  faculty  was  a  spring  that  never 
ran  dry.  He  had  a  manner,  as  I  said,  like  De  Foe's,  of 
creating  the  allusion  that  we  are  reading  realities,  by  little 
touches  such  as  "  I  do  not  know ;"  "  He  did  not  tell  me 
this ;"  or  the  needless  introduction  of  particulars  irrelevant 
to  the  general  plot  such  as  we  always  stumble  on  in  life, 
and  writers  of  fiction  usually  omit.  Bunyan  was  never 
prosecuted  for  libel  by  Badman's  relations,  and  the  char- 
acter is  the  corresponding  contrast  to  Christian  in  The 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  the  pilgrim's  journey  being  in  the  op- 
posite direction  to  the  other  place.  Throughout  we  are 
on  the  solid  earth,  amidst  real  experiences.  No  demand  is 
made  on  our  credulity  by  Providential  interpositions,  ex- 
cept in  the  intercalated  anecdotes  which  do  not  touch  the 
story  itself.  The  wicked  man's  career  is  not  brought  to 
the  abrupt  or  sensational  issues  so  much  in  favour  with  or- 
dinary didactic  tale-writers.  Such  issues  are  the  exception, 
not  the  rule,  and  the  edifying  story  loses  its  effect  when 
the  reader  turns  from  it  to  actual  life,  and  perceives  that 
the  majority  are  not  punished  in  any  such  way.  Bunyan 
conceals  nothing,  assumes  nothing,  and  exaggerates  noth- 
ing. He  makes  his  bad  man  sharp  and  shrewd.  He  al- 
lows sharpness  and  shrewdness  to  bring  him  the  rewards 
which  such  qualities  in  fact  command.  Badraan  is  suc- 
cessful, he  is  powerful ;  he  enjoys  all  the  pleasures  which 
money  can  buy ;  his  bad  wife  helps  him  to  ruin,  but  oth- 
erwise he  is  not  unhappy,  and  he  dies  in  peace.  Bunyan 
has  made  him  a  brute,  because  such  men  do  become 
brutes.  It  is  the  real  punishment  of  brutal  and  selfish 
habits.  There  the  figure  stands :  a  picture  of  a  man  in 
the  rank  of  English  life  with  which  Bunyan  was  most 
familiar,  travelling  along  the  primrose  path  to  the  everlast- 


lis  BUNYAN.  [cHAP.vii 

ing  bonfire,  as  the  way  to  Emmanuel's  Land  was  through 
the  Slough  of  Despond  and  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of 
Death.  Pleasures  are  to  be  found  among  the  primroses, 
such  pleasures  as  a  brute  can  be  gratified  by.  Yet  the 
reader  feels  that,  even  if  there  was  no  bonfire,  he  would 
still  prefer  to  be  with  Christian. 


CHAPTER  Vin. 
"the   holy   war." 

The  supernatural  has  been  successfully  represented  in  po- 
etry, painting,  or  sculpture,  only  at  particular  periods  of 
human  history,  and  under  peculiar  mental  conditions.  The 
artist  must  himself  believe  in  the  supernatural,  or  his  de- 
scription of  it  will  be  a  sham,  without  dignity  and  without 
credibility.  He  must  feel  himself  able,  at  the  same  time, 
to  treat  the  subject  which  he  selects  with  freedom,  throw- 
ing his  own  mind  boldly  into  it,  or  he  will  produce,  at 
best,  the  hard  and  stiff  forms  of  literal  tradition.  When 
Benvenuto  Cellini  was  preparing  to  make  an  image  of  the 
Virgin,  he  declares  gravely  that  Our  Lady  appeared  to 
him,  that  he  might  know  what  she  was  like ;  and  so  real 
was  the  apparition  that,  for  many  months  after,  he  says 
that  his  friends,  when  the  room  was  dark,  could  see  a  faint 
aureole  about  his  head.  Yet  Benvenuto  worked  as  if  his 
own  brain  was  partly  the  author  of  what  he  produced,  and, 
like  other  contemporary  artists,  used  his  mistresses  for  his 
models,  and  was  no  servile  copyist  of  phantoms  seen  in 
visions.  There  is  a  truth  of  the  imagination,  and  there  is 
a  truth  of  fact,  religion  hovering  between  them,  translating 
one  into  the  other,  turning  natural  phenomena  into  the 
activity  of  personal  beings ;  or  giving  earthly  names  and 
habitations   to   mere  creatures   of  fancy.      Imagination 


114  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

creates  a  mythology.  The  priest  takes  it  and  fashions 
out  of  it  a  theology,  a  ritual,  or  a  sacred  history.  So  long 
as  the  priest  can  convince  the  world  that  he  is  dealing  with 
literal  facts  he  holds  reason  prisoner,  and  imagination  is 
his  servant.  In  the  twilight,  when  dawn  is  coming  near 
hut  has  not  yet  come ;  when  the  uncertain  nature  of  the 
legend  is  felt,  though  not  intelligently  discerned — imagi- 
nation is  the  first  to  resume  its  liberty ;  it  takes  possession 
of  its  own  inheritance,  it  dreams  of  its  gods  and  demi- 
gods, as  Benevenuto  dreamt  of  the  Virgin,  and  it  re-shapes 
the  priest's  traditions  in  noble  and  beautiful  forms.  Homer 
and  the  Greek  dramatists  would  not  have  dared  to  bring 
the  gods  upon  the  stage  so  freely  had  they  believed  Zeus 
and  Apollo  were  living  persons,  like  the  man  in  the  next 
street,' who  might  call  the  poet  to  account  for  what  they 
were  made  to  do  and  say ;  but  neither,  on  the  other  hand^ 
could  they  have  been  actively  conscious  that  Zeus  and 
Apollo  were  apparitions,  which  had  no  existence  except  in 
their  own  brains. 

The  condition  is  extremely  peculiar.  It  can  exist  only 
in  certain  epochs,  and  in  its  nature  is  necessarily  transitory. 
Where  belief  is  consciously  gone,  the  artist  has  no  rever- 
ence for  his  work,  and,  therefore,  can  inspire  none.  The 
greatest  genius  in  the  world  could  not  reproduce  another 
Athene  like  that  of  Phidias.  But  neither  must  the  belief 
be  too  complete.  The  poet's  tongue  stammers  when  he 
would  bring  beings  before  us  who,  though  invisible,  are 
awful  personal  existences,  in  whose  stupendous  presence 
we  one  day  expect  to  stand.  As  long  as  the  conviction 
survives  that  he  is  dealing  with  literal  truths,  he  is  safe 
only  while  he  follows  with  shoeless  feet  the  letter  of  the 
tradition.  He  dares  not  step  beyond,  lest  he  degrade  the 
Infinite  to  the  human  level,  and  if  he  is  wise  he  prefers  to 


vin.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  115 

content  himself  with  humbler  subjects.  A  Christian  artist 
can  represent  Jesus  Christ  as  a  man  because  He  was  a  man, 
and  because  the  details  of  the  Gospel  history  leave  room 
for  the  imagination  to  work.  To  represent  Christ  as  the 
Eternal  Son  in  heaven,  to  bring  before  us  the  Persons  of 
the  Trinity,  consulting,  planning,  and  reasoning,  to  take 
us  into  their  everlasting  Council-chamber,  as  Homer  takes 
us  into  Olympus,  will  be  possible  only  when  Christianity 
ceases  to  be  regarded  as  a  history  of  true  facts.  Till  then 
it  is  a  trespass  beyond  the  permitted  limits,  and  revolts  us 
by  the  inadequacy  of  the  result.  Either  the  artist  fails  al- 
together by  attempting  the  impossible,  or  those  whom  he 
addresses  are  themselves  intellectually  injured  by  an  un- 
real treatment  of  truths  hitherto  sacred.  They  confound 
the  representation  with  its  object,  and  regard  the  whole  of 
it  as  unreal  together. 

These  observations  apply  most  immediately  to  Milton's 
Paradise  Lost,  and  are  meant  to  explain  the  unsatisfactori- 
ness  of  it.  Milton  himself  was  only  partially  emancipated 
from  the  bondage  of  the  letter ;  half  in  earth,  half  "  paw- 
ing to  get  free,"  like  his  own  lion.  The  war  in  heaven, 
the  fall  of  the  rebel  angels,  the  horrid  splendours  of  Pan- 
demonium seem  legitimate  subjects  for  Christian  poetry. 
They  stand  for  something  which  we  regard  as  real,  yet  we 
are  not  bound  to  any  actual  opinions  about  them.  Satan 
has  no  claim  on  reverential  abstinence;  and  Paradise  and 
the  Fall  of  Man  are  perhaps  sufficiently  mythic  to  permit 
poets  to  take  certain  liberties  with  them.  But  even  so  far 
Milton  has  not  entirely  succeeded.  His  wars  of  the  angels 
are  shadowy.  They  have  no  substance,  like  the  battles  of 
Greeks  and  Trojans,  or  Centaurs  and  Lapithae ;  and  Satan 
could  not  be  made  interesting  without  touches  of  a  nobler 
nature — that  is,  without  ceasing  to  be  the  Satan  of  the 
6 


118  BFNTAN.  [chap. 

Christian  religion.  But  this  is  not  the  worst.  When  we 
are  carried  up  into  heaven,  and  hear  the  persons  of  the 
Trinity  conversing  on  the  mischiefs  which  have  crept  into 
the  universe,  and  planning  remedies  and  schemes  of  salva- 
tion like  Puritan  divines,  we  turn  away  incredulous  and  re- 
sentful. Theologians  may  form  such  theories  for  them- 
selves, if  not  wisely,  yet  without  offence.  They  may  study 
the  world  in  which  they  are  placed  with  the  light  which 
can  be  thrown  upon  it  by  the  book  which  they  call  the 
Word  of  God.  They  may  form  their  conclusions,  invent 
their  schemes  of  doctrine,  and  commend  to  their  flocks  the 
interpretation  of  the  mystery  at  which  they  have  arrived. 
The  cycles  and  epicycles  of  the  Ptolemaic  astronomers 
were  imperfect  hypotheses,  but  they  were  stages  on  which 
the  mind  could  rest  for  a  more  complete  examination  of 
the  celestial  phenomena.  But  the  poet  does  not  offer  us 
phrases  and  formulas ;  he  presents  to  us  personalities,  liv- 
ing and  active,  influenced  by  emotions  and  reasoning  from 
premises;  and  when  the  unlimited  and  incomprehensible 
Being  whose  attributes  are  infinite,  of  whom,  from  the  in- 
adequacy of  our  ideas,  we  can  only  speak  in  negatives,  is 
brought  on  the  stage  to  talk  like  an  ordinary  man,  we 
feel  that  Milton  has  mistaken  the  necessary  limits  of  his 
art. 

When  Faust  claims  aflSnity  with  the  Erdgeist,  the  spirit 
tells  him  to  seek  affinities  with  beings  which  he  can  com- 
prehend. The  commandment  which  forbade  the  represen- 
tation of  God  in  a  bodily  form,  forbids  the  poet  equally  to 
make  God  describe  his  feelings  and  his  purposes.  Where 
the  poet  would  create  a  character  he  must  himself  com- 
prehend it  first  to  its  inmost  fibre.  He  cannot  compre- 
hend his  own  Creator.  Admire  as  we  may  Paradise  Lost ; 
try  as  we  may  to  admire  Paradise  Regained ;  acknowledge 


Tin.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  117 

as  we  must  the  splendour  of  the  imagery  and  the  stately 
march  of  the  verse — there  comes  upon  us  irresistibly  a 
sense  of  the  unfitness  of  the  subject  for  Milton's  treatment 
of  it.  If  the  story  which  he  tells  us  is  true,  it  is  too  mo- 
mentous to  be  played  with  in  poetry.  We  prefer  to  hear 
it  in  plain  prose,  with  a  minimum  of  ornament  and  the  ut- 
most possible  precision  of  statement.  Milton  himself  had 
not  arrived  at  thinking  it  to  be  a  legend,  a  picture,  like  a 
Greek  Mythology.  His  poem  falls  between  two  modes  of 
treatment  and  two  conceptions  of  truth ;  we  wonder,  we 
recite,  we  applaud,  but  something  comes  in  between  our 
minds  and  a  full  enjoyment,  and  it  will  not  satisfy  us  bet- 
ter as  time  goes  on. 

The  same  objection  applies  to  The  Holy  War  of  Bun- 
yan.  It  is,  as  I  said,  a  people's  version  of  the  same  series 
of  subjects — the  creation  of  man,  the  fall  of  man,  his  re- 
demption, his  ingratitude,  his  lapse,  and  again  his  restora- 
tion. The  chief  figures  are  the  same,  the  action  is  the 
same,  though  more  varied  and  complicated,  and  the  gen- 
eral effect  is  unsatisfactory  from  the  same  cause.  Prose 
is  less  ambitious  than  poetry.  There  is  an  absence  of  at- 
tempts at  grand  effects.  There  is  no  effort  after  sublimi- 
ty, and  there  is  consequently  a  lighter  sense  of  incongrui- 
ty in  the  failure  to  reach  it.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is 
the  greater  fulness  of  detail  so  characteristic  of  Bunyan's 
manner;  and  fulness  of  detail  on  a  theme  so  far  beyond 
our  understanding  is  as  dangerous  as  vague  grandilo- 
quence. In  The  PilgrirrCs  Progress  we  are  among  genu- 
ine human  beings.  The  reader  knows  the  road  too  well 
which  Christian  follows.  He  has  struggled  with  him  in 
the  Slough  of  Despond.  He  has  shuddered  with  him  in 
the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death.  He  has  groaned 
with  him  in  the  dungeons  of  Doubting  Castle.     He  has 


118  BUNYAN.  [chip. 

encountered  on  his  journey  the  same  fellow-travellers. 
Who  does  not  know  Mr.  Pliable,  Mr.  Obstinate,  Mr.  Fac- 
ing-both-ways,  Mr.  Feeble  Mind,  and  all  the  rest?  They 
are  representative  realities,  flesh  of  our  flesh,  and  bone  of 
our  bone.  "  If  we  prick  them,  they  bleed ;  if  we  tickle 
them,  they  laugh,"  or  they  make  us  laugh.  "  They  are 
warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summer "  as 
we  are.  The  human  actors  in  The  Holy  War  are  parts 
of  men — special  virtues,  special  vices :  allegories  in  fact  as 
well  as  in  name,  which  all  Bunyan's  genius  can  only  occa- 
sionally substantiate  into  persons.  The  plot  of  The  Pil- 
grim^s  Progress  is  simple.  The  Holy  War  is  prolonged 
through  endless  vicissitudes,  with  a  doubtful  issue  after  all, 
and  the  incomprehensibility  of  the  Being  who  allows  Satan 
to  defy  him  so  long  and  so  successfully  is  unpleasantly  and 
harshly  brought  home  to  us.  True,  it  is  so  in  life.  Evil 
remains  after  all  that  has  been  done  for  us.  But  life  is 
confessedly  a  mystery.  The  Holy  War  professes  to  inter- 
pret the  mystery,  and  only  restates  the  problem  in  a  more 
elaborate  form.  Man  Friday,  on  reading  it,  would  have 
asked,  ^ven  more  emphatically,  "Why  God  not  kill  the 
devil  ?"  and  Robinson  Crusoe  would  have  found  no  assist- 
ance in  answering  him.  For  these  reasons  I  cannot  agree 
with  Macaulay  in  thinking  that,  if  there  had  been  no  Pil- 
grini's  Progress,  The  Holy  War  would  have  been  the  first 
of  religious  allegories.  We  may  admire  the  workmanship, 
but  the  same  undefined  sense  of  unreality  which  pursues 
us  through  Milton's  epic  would  have  interfered  equally 
with  the  acceptance  of  this.  The  question  to  us  is  if  the 
facts  are  true.  If  true,  they  require  no  allegories  to  touch 
either  our  hearts  or  our  intellects. 

The  Holy  War  would  have  entitled  Bunyan  to  a  place 
among  the  masters  of  English  literature.    It  would  never 


vni.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  119 

have  made  his  name  a  household  word  in  every  English* 
speaking  family  on  the  globe. 

The  story,  which  I  shall  try  to  tell  in  an  abridged  form, 
is  introduced  by  a  short  prefatory  poem.  Works  of  fan- 
cy, Bunyan  tells  us,  are  of  many  sorts,  according  to  the 
author's  humour.     For  himself  he  says  to  his  reader — 

"  I  have  something  else  to  do 
Than  write  vain  stories  thus  to  trouble  you. 
What  here  I  say  some  men  do  know  too  well ; 
They  can  with  tears  and  joy  the  story  tell. 
The  town  of  Mansoul  is  well  known  to  many, 
Nor  are  her  troubles  doubted  of  by  any 
That  are  acquainted  with  those  histories 
That  Mansoul  and  her  wars  anatomize. 

"  Then  lend  thine  ears  to  what  I  do  relate 
Touching  the  town  of  Mansoul  and  her  state ; 
How  she  was  lost,  took  captive,  made  a  slave, 
And  how  against  him  set  that  should  her  save, 
Yea,  how  by  hostile  ways  she  did  oppose 
Her  Lord,  and  with  his  enemy  did  close, 
For  they  are  true ;  he  that  will  them  deny 
Must  needs  the  best  of  records  vilify. 

"  For  my  part,  I  myself  was  in  the  town 
Both  when  'twas  set  up  and  when  pulling  down. 
I  saw  Diabolus  in  his  possession. 
And  Mansoul  also  under  his  oppression : 
Yea,  I  was  there  when  she  him  owned  for  Lord, 
And  to  him  did  submit  with  one  accord. 

**  When  Mansoul  trampled  upon  things  divine. 
And  wallowed  in  filth  as  doth  a  swine. 
When  she  betook  herself  unto  his  arms, 
Fought  her  Emmanuel,  despised  his  charms ; 
Then  was  I  there,  and  did  rejoice  to  see 
Diabolus  and  Mansoul  so  agree. 


lao  BUNYAN.  [CHAP 

"  Let  no  man  count  me  then  a  fable-maker, 
Nor  make  ray  name  or  credit  a  partaker 
Of  their  derision.     What  is  here  in  view 
Of  mine  own  knowledge  I  dare  say  is  true." 

At  setting  out  we  are  introduced  into  the  famous  con- 
tinent of  "  Universe,"  a  large  and  spacious  country  lying 
between  the  two  poles — "the  people  of  it  not  all  of  one 
complexion  nor  yet  of  one  language,  mode  or  way  of  re- 
ligion, but  differing  as  much  as  the  planets  themselves; 
some  right,  some  wrong,  even  as  it  may  happen  to  be." 

In  this  country  of  "  Universe  "  was  a  fair  and  delicate 
town  and  corporation  called  "  Mansoul,"  a  town  for  its 
building  so  curious,  for  its  situation  so  commodious,  for 
its  privileges  so  advantageous,  that  with  reference  to  its 
original  (state)  there  was  not  its  equal  under  heaven.  The 
first  founder  was  Shaddai,  who  built  it  for  his  own  delight. 
In  the  midst  of  the  town  was  a  famous  and  stately  palace 
which  Shaddai  intended  for  himself.'  He  had  no  inten- 
tion of  allowing  strangers  to  intrude  there.  And  the  pe- 
culiarity of  the  place  was  that  the  walls  of  Mansoul*  could 
never  be  broken  down  or  hurt  unless  the  townsmen  con- 
sented. Mansoul  had  five  gates  which,  in  like  manner, 
could  only  be  forced  if  those  within  allowed  it.  These 
gates  were  Eargate,  Eyegate,  Mouthgate,  Nosegate,  and 
Feelgate.  Thus  provided,  Mansoul  was  at  first  all  that  its 
founder  could  desire.  It  had  the  most  excellent  laws  in 
the  world.  There  was  not  a  rogue  or  a  rascal  inside  its 
whole  precincts.     The  inhabitants  were  all  tmc  men. 

Now  there  was  a  certain  giant  named  Diabolus — king 
of  the  blacks  or  negroes,  as  Bunyan  noticeably  calls  them 

'  Bunyan  says,  in  a  marginal  note,  that  by  this  palace  he  means 
the  heart. 
•  The  body. 


vra]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  121 

— the  negroes  standing  for  sinners  or  fallen  angels.  Diab- 
olus  had  once  been  a  servant  of  Shaddai,  one  of  the  chief 
in  his  territories.  Pride  and  ambition  had  led  him  to 
aspire  to  the  crown  which  was  settled  on  Shaddai's  Son. 
He  had  formed  a  conspiracy  and  planned  a  revolution. 
Shaddai  and  his  Son,  "  being  all  eye,"  easily  detected  the 
plot.  Diabolus  and  his  crew  were  bound  in  chains,  ban- 
ished, and  thrown  into  a  pit,  there  to  "  abide  for  ever." 
This  was  their  sentence ;  but  out  of  the  pit,  in  spite  of  it, 
they  in  some  way  contrived  to  escape.  They  ranged  about 
full  of  malice  against  Shaddai,  and  looking  for  means  to 
injure  him.  They  came  at  last  on  Mansoul.  They  deter- 
mined to  take  it,  and  called  a  council  to  consider  how  it 
could  best  be  done.  Diabolus  was  aware  of  the  condition 
that  no  one  could  enter  without  the  inhabitants'  consent. 
Alecto,  ApoUyon,  Beelzebub,  Lucifer  (Pagan  and  Christian 
demons  intermixed  indifferently)  gave  their  several  opin- 
ions. Diabolus  at  length,  at  Lucifer's  suggestion,  decided 
to  assume  the  shape  of  one  of  the  creatures  over  which 
Mansoul  had  dominion ;  and  he  selected  as  the  fittest  that 
of  a  snake,  which  at  that  time  was  in  great  favour  with  the 
people  as  both  harmless  and  wise. 

The  population  of  Mansoul  were  simple,  innocent  folks 
who  believed  everything  that  was  said  to  them.  Force, 
however,  might  be  necessary,  as  well  as  cunning,  and  the 
Tisiphone,  a  fury  of  the  Lakes,  was  required  to  assist. 
The  attempt  was  to  be  made  at  Eargate.  A  certain  Cap- 
tain Resistance  was  in  charge  of  this  gate,  whom  Diabolus 
feared  more  than  any  one  in  the  place.  Tisiphone  was  to 
shoot  him. 

The  plans  being  all  laid,  Diabolus  in  his  snake's  dress 
approached  the  wall,  accompanied  by  one  HI  Pause,  a  fa- 
mous orator,  the  Fury  following  behind.     He  asked  for  a 


122  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

parley  with  the  heads  of  the  town.  Captain  Resistance, 
two  of  the  great  nobles,  Lord  Innocent,  and  Lord  Will 
be  Will,  with  Mr.  Conscience,  the  Recorder,  and  Lord  Un- 
derstanding, the  Lord  Mayor,  came  to  the  gate  to  see  what 
he  wanted.  Lord  Will  be  Will  plays  a  prominent  part  in 
the  drama  both  for  good  and  evil.  He  is  neither  Free 
Will,  nor  Wilfulness,  nor  Inclination,  but  the  quality  which 
metaphysicians  and  theologians  agree  in  describing  as  "  the 
Will."  "  The  Will "  simply — a  subtle  something  of  great 
importance ;  but  what  it  is  they  have  never  been  able  to 
explain. 

Lord  Will  be  Will  inquired  Diabolus's  business.  Diab- 
olus,  "  meek  as  a  lamb,"  said  he  was  a  neighbour  of  theirs. 
He  had  observed  with  distress  that  they  were  living  in  a 
state  of  slavery,  and  he  wished  to  help  them  to  be  free. 
Shaddai  was  no  doubt  a  great  prince,  but  he  was  an  arbi- 
trary despot.  There  was  no  liberty  where  the  laws  were 
unreasonable,  and  Shaddai's  laws  were  the  reverse  of  rea- 
sonable. They  had  a  fruit  growing  among  them,  in  Man- 
soul,  which  they  had  but  to  eat  to  become  wise.  Knowl- 
edge was  well  known  to  be  the  best  of  possessions.  Knowl- 
edge was  freedom ;  ignorance  was  bondage ;  and  yet 
Shaddai  had  forbidden  them  to  touch  this  precious  fruit. 

At  that  moment  Captain  Resistance  fell  dead,  pierced 
by  an  arrrow  from  Tisiphone.  HI  Pause  made  a  flowing 
speech,  in  the  midst  of  which  Lord  Innocent  fell  also, 
either  through  a  blow  from  Diabolus,  or  "  overpowered  by 
the  stinking  breath  of  the  old  villain  HI  Pause."  The  peo- 
ple flew  upon  the  apple-tree;  Eargate  and  Eyegate  were 
thrown  open,  and  Diabolus  was  invited  to  come  in  ;  when 
at  once  he  became  King  of  Mansoul,  and  established  him- 
self in  the  castle.* 

»  The  heart. 


Tin.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  123 

The  magistrates  were  immediately  changed.  Lord  Un- 
derstanding ceased  to  be  Lord  Mayor.  Mr.  Conscience 
was  no  longer  left  as  Recorder.  Diabolus  built  up  a  wall 
in  front  of  Lord  Understanding's  palace,  and  shut  off  the 
light,  "  so  that  till  Mansoul  was  delivered  the  old  Lord 
Mayor  was  rather  an  impediment  than  an  advantage  to  that 
famous  town."  Diabolus  tried  long  to  bring  "  Conscience  " 
over  to  his  side,  but  never  quite  succeeded.  The  Recorder 
became  greatly  corrupted,  but  he  could  not  be  prevented 
from  now  and  then  remembering  Shaddai ;  and  when  the 
fit  was  on  him  he  would  shake  the  town  with  his  excla- 
mations. Diabolus,  therefore,  had  to  try  other  methods 
with  him.  "  He  had  a  way  to  make  the  old  gentleman, 
when  he  was  merry,  unsay  and  deny  what  in  his  fits  he 
had  affirmed;  and  this  was  the  next  way  to  make  him 
ridiculous,  and  to  cause  that  no  man  should  regard  him." 
To  make  all  secure,  Diabolus  often  said,  "  Oh,  Mansoul, 
consider  that,  notwithstanding  the  old  gentleman's  rage 
and  the  rattle  of  the  high,  thundering  words,  you  hear 
nothing  of  Shaddai  himself."  The  Recorder  had  pretend- 
ed that  the  voice  of  the  Lord  was  speaking  in  him.  Had 
this  been  so,  Diabolus  argued  that  the  Lord  would  have 
done  more  than  speak.  "  Shaddai,"  he  said,  "  valued  not 
the  loss  nor  the  rebellion  of  Mansoul,  nor  would  he  trouble 
himself  with  calling  his  town  to  a  reckoning." 

In  this  way  the  Recorder  came  to  be  generally  hated, 
and  more  than  once  the  people  would  have  destroyed  him. 
Happily  his  house  was  a  castle  near  the  water-works.  When 
the  rabble  pursued  him,  he  would  pull  up  the  sluices,'  let 
in  the  flood,  and  drown  all  about  him. 

Lord  Will  be  Will,  on  the  other  hand,  "  as  high  bom 
as  any  in  Mansoul,"  became  Diabolus's  principal  minister. 

'  Fears. 
I      6*  9 


124  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

He  had  been  the  first  to  propose  admitting  Diabolus,  and 
he  was  made  Captain  of  the  Castle,  Governor  of  the  Wall, 
and  Keeper  of  the  Gates.  Will  be  Will  had  a  clerk  named 
Mr.  Mind,  a  man  every  way  like  his  master,  and  Mansoul 
was  thus  brought  "  under  the  lusts  "  of  Will  and  InteUect. 
Mr.  Mind  had  in  his  house  some  old  rent  and  torn  parch- 
ments of  the  law  of  Shaddai.  The  Recorder  had  some 
more  in  his  study ;  but  to  these  Will  be  Will  paid  no  at- 
tention, and  surrounded  himself  with  oflBcials  who  were  all 
in  Diabolus's  interest.  He  had  as  deputy  one  Mr.  Affec- 
tion, "  much  debauched  in  his  principles,  so  that  he  was 
called  Vile  Affection."  Vile  Affection  married  Mr.  Mind's 
daughter,  Carnal  Lust,  by  whom  he  had  three  sons  —  Im- 
pudent, Black  Mouth,  and  Hate  Reproof ;  and  three  daugh- 
ters— Scorn  Truth,  Slight  Good,  and  Revenge.  All  traces 
of  Shaddai  were  now  swept  away.  His  image,  which  had 
stood  in  the  market-place,  was  taken  down,  and  an  artist 
called  Mr.  No  Truth  was  employed  to  set  up  the  image  of 
Diabolus  in  place  of  it.  Lord  Lustings — "  who  never  sa- 
voured good,  but  evil "  —  was  chosen  for  the  new  Lord 
Mayor.  Mr.  Forget  Good  was  appointed  Recorder.  There 
were  new  burgesses  and  aldermen,  all  with  appropriate 
names,  for  which  Bunyan  was  never  at  a  loss — Mr.  Incre- 
dulity, Mr.  Haughty,  Mr.  Swearing,  Mr.  Hardheart,  Mr.  Piti- 
less, Mr.  Fury,  Mr.  No  Truth,  Mr.  Stand  to  Lies,  Mr.  False- 
peace,  Mr.  Drunkenness,  Mr.  Cheating,  Mr.  Atheism,  and 
another;  thirteen  of  them  in  all.  Mr.  Incredulity  was 
the  eldest,  Mr.  Atheism  the  youngest  in  the  company — a 
shrewd  and  correct  arrangement.  Diabolus,  on  his  part, 
set  to  work  to  fortify  Mansoul.  He  built  three  fortresses 
— "  The  Hold  of  Defiance  "  at  Eyegate,  "  that  the  light 
might  be  darkened  there;"  "Midnight  Hold"  near  the  old 
Castle^  to  keep  Mansoul  from  knowledge  of  itself ;  and 


Tni.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  125 

"  Sweet  Sin  Hold  "  in  the  market-place,  that  there  might 
be  no  desire  of  good  there.  These  strongholds  being 
established  and  garrisoned,  Diabolus  thought  that  he  had 
made  his  conquest  secure. 

So  far  the  story  runs  on  firmly  and  clearly.  It  is  vivid, 
consistent  in  itself,  and  held  well  within  the  limits  of  hu- 
man nature  and  experience.  But,  like  Milton,  Bunyan  is 
now,  by  the  exigencies  of  the  situation,  forced  upon  more 
perilous  ground.  He  carries  us  into  the  presence  of  Shad- 
dai  himself,  at  the  time  when  the  loss  of  Mansoul  was  re- 
ported in  heaven. 

The  king,  his  son,  his  high  lords,  his  chief  captains  and 
nobles  were  all  assembled  to  hear.  There  was  universal 
grief,  in  which  the  king  and  his  son  shared,  or  rather  seem- 
ed to  share — for  at  once  the  drama  of  the  Fall  of  Mankind 
becomes  no  better  than  a  Mystery  Play.  "  Shaddai  and 
his  son  had  foreseen  it  all  long  before,  and  had  provided 
for  the  relief  of  Mansoul,  though  they  told  not  everybody 
thereof — but  because  they  would  have  a  share  in  condoling 
of  the  misery  of  Mansoul  they  did,  and  that  at  the  rate  of 
the  highest  degree,  bewail  the  losing  of  Mansoul " — "  thus 
to  show  their  love  and  compassion." 

Paradise  Lost  was  published  at  the  time  that  Bunyan 
wrote  this  passage.  If  he  had  not  seen  it,  the  coincidences 
of  treatment  are  singularly  curious.  It  is  equally  singular, 
if  he  had  seen  it,  that  Milton  should  not  here  at  least  have 
taught  him  to  avoid  making  the  Almighty  into  a  stage 
actor.  The  Father  and  Son  consult  how  "  to  do  what  they 
had  designed  before."  They  decide  that  at  a  certain  time, 
which  they  preordain,  the  Son,  "  a  sweet  and  comely  per- 
son," shall  make  a  journey  into  the  Universe,  and  lay  a 
foundation  there  for  Mansoul's  deliverance.  Milton  of- 
fends in  the  scene  less  than  Bunyan ;  but  Milton  cannot 


126  BUNTAN.  [chap. 

persuade  us  that  it  is  one  whicli  should  have  been  repre- 
sented by  either  of  them.  They  should  have  left  "  plans 
of  salvation  "  to  eloquent  orators  in  the  pulpit. 

Though  the  day  of  deliverance  by  the  method  proposed 
was  as  yet  far  off,  the  war  against  Diabolus  was  to  be 
commenced  immediately.  The  Lord  Chief  Secretary  was 
ordered  to  put  in  writing  Shaddai's  intentions,  and  cause 
them  to  be  published.*  Mansoul,  it  was  announced,  was 
to  be  put  into  a  better  condition  than  it  was  in  before 
Diabolus  took  it. 

The  report  of  the  Council  in  Heaven  was  brought  to 
Diabolus,  who  took  his  measures  accordingly.  Lord  Will 
be  Will  standing  by  him  and  executing  all  his  directions. 
Mansoul  was  forbidden  to  read  Shaddai's  proclamation. 
Diabolus  imposed  a  great  oath  on  the  townspeople  never  to 
desert  him ;  he  believed  that  if  they  entered  into  a  cove- 
nant of  this  kind  Shaddai  could  not  absolve  them  from  it. 
They  "  swallowed  the  engagement  as  if  it  had  been  a  sprat 
in  the  mouth  of  a  whale."  Being  now  Diabolus's  trusty 
children,  he  gave  them  leave  "  to  do  whatever  their  appe- 
tites prompted  to  do."  They  would  thus  involve  them- 
selves in  all  kinds  of  wickedness,  and  Shaddai's  son  "  being 
Holy"  would  be  less  likely  to  interest  himself  for  them. 
When  they  had  in  this  way  put  themselves,  as  Diabolus 
hoped,  beyond  reach  of  mercy,  he  informed  them  that 
Shaddai  was  raising  an  army  to  destroy  the  town.  No 
quarter  would  be  given,  and  unless  they  defended  them- 
selves like  men  they  would  all  be  made  slaves.  Their 
spirit  being  roused,  he  armed  them  with  the  shield  of  un- 
belief, "  calling  into  question  the  truth  of  the  Word."  He 
gave  them  a  helmet  of  hope — "  hope  of  doing  well  at  last, 
whatever  lives  they  might  lead ;"  for  a  breastplate  a  heart 
'  The  Scriptures. 


vni.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  127 

as  hard  as  iron, "  most  necessary  for  all  that  hated  Shad- 
dai;"  and  another  piece  of  most  excellent  armour,  "a 
drunken  and  prayerless  spirit  that  scorned  to  cry  for 
mercy."  Shaddai,  on  his  side,  had  also  prepared  his  forces. 
He  will  not  as  yet  send  his  son.  The  first  expedition  was 
to  fail,  and  was  meant  to  fail.  The  object  was  to  try 
whether  Mansoul  would  return  to  obedience.  And  yet 
Shaddai  knew  that  it  would  not  return  to  obedience.  Bun- 
yan  was  too  ambitious  to  explain  the  inexplicable.  Fifty 
thousand  warriors  were  collected,  all  chosen  by  Shaddai 
himself.  There  were  four  leaders  —  Captain  Boanerges, 
Captain  Conviction,  Captain  Judgment,  and  Captain  Exe- 
cution— the  martial  saints,  with  whom  Macaulay  thinks 
Bunyan  made  acquaintance  when  he  served,  if  serve  he 
did,  with  Fairfax.  The  bearings  on  their  banners  were 
three  black  thunderbolts  —  the  Book  of  the  Law,  wide 
open,  with  a  flame  of  fire  bursting  from  it;  a  burn- 
ing, fiery  furnace ;  and  a  fruitless  tree  with  an  axe 
at  its  root.  These  emblems  represent  the  terrors  of 
Mount  Sinai,  the  covenant  of  works  which  was  not  to 
prevail. 

The  captains  come  to  the  walls  of  Mansoul,  and  sum- 
mon the  town  to  surrender.  Their  words  "beat  against 
Eargate,  but  without  force  to  break  it  open."  The  new 
oflScials  answer  the  challenge  with  defiance.  Lord  In- 
credulity knows  not  by  what  right  Shaddai  invades  their 
country.  Lord  Will  be  Will  and  Mr.  Forget  Good  warn 
them  to  be  off  before  they  rouse  Diabolus.  The  towns- 
people ring  the  bells  and  dance  on  the  walls.  Will  be 
Will  double-bars  the  gates.  Bunyan's  genius  is  at  its  best 
in  scenes  of  this  kind.  "  Old  Mr.  Prejudice,  with  sixty 
deaf  men,"  is  appointed  to  take  charge  of  Eargate.  At 
Eargate,  too,  are  planted  two  guns,  called  Highmind  and 


128  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

Heady,  "cast  in  the  earth  by  Diabolus's  head  founder, 
whose  name  was  Mr.  Puffup." 

The  fighting  begins,  but  the  covenant  of  works  makes 
little  progress.  Shaddai's  captains,  when  advancing  on 
Mansoul,  had  fallen  in  with  "three  young  fellows  of 
promising  appearance  "  who  volunteered  to  go  with  them 
— "  Mr.  Tradition,  Mr.  Human  Wisdom,  and  Mr.  Man's  In- 
vention." They  were  allowed  to  join,  and  were  placed  in 
positions  of  trust,  the  captains  of  the  covenant  being  ap- 
parently wanting  in  discernment.  They  were  taken  pris- 
oners in  the  first  skirmish,  and  immediately  changed  sides 
and  went  over  to  Diabolus.  More  battles  follow.  The 
roof  of  the  Lord  Mayor's  house  is  beaten  in.  The  law  is 
not  wholly  ineffectual.  Six  of  the  Aldermen,  the  grosser 
moral  sins — Swearing,  Stand  to  Lies,  Drunkenness,  Cheat- 
ing, and  others — are  overcome  and  killed.  Diabolus  grows 
uneasy,  and  loses  his  sleep.  Old  Conscience  begins  to  talk 
again.  A  party  forms  in  the  town  in  favour  of  surrender, 
and  Mr.  Parley  is  sent  to  Eargate  to  treat  for  terms.  The 
spiritual  sins  —  False  Peace,  Unbelief,  Haughtiness,  Athe- 
ism— are  still  unsubdued  and  vigorous.  The  conditions 
offered  are  that  Incredulity,  Forget  Good,  and  Will  be 
Will  shall  retain  their  offices ;  Mansoul  shall  be  continued 
in  all  the  liberties  which  it  enjoys  under  Diabolus ;  and  a 
further  touch  is  added  which  shows  how  little  Bunyan 
sympathised  with  modern  notions  of  the  beauty  of  self- 
government.  No  new  law  or  officer  shall  have  any  power 
in  Mansoul  without  the  people's  consent. 

Boanerges  will  agree  to  no  conditions  with  rebels.  In- 
credulity and  Will  be  Will  advise  the  people  to  stand  by 
their  rights,  and  refuse  to  submit  to  "  unlimited "  power. 
The  war  goes  on,  and  Incredulity  is  made  Diabolus's  uni- 
versal deputy.      Conscience  and  Understanding,  the  old 


vm.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  129 

Recorder  and  Mayor,  raise  a  mutiny,  and  there  is  a  fight 
in  the  streets.  Conscience  is  knocked  down  by  a  Dia- 
bolonian  called  Mr.  Benumming.  Understanding  had  a 
narrow  escape  from  being  shot.  On  the  other  hand,  Mr. 
Mind,  who  had  come  over  to  the  Conservative  side,  laid 
about  bravely,  tumbled  old  Mr.  Prejudice  into  the  dirt,  and 
kicked  him  where  he  lay.  Even  Will  be  Will  seemed  to 
be  wavering  in  his  allegiance  to  Diabolus.  "  He  smiled, 
and  did  not  seem  to  take  one  side  more  than  another." 
The  rising,  however,  is  put  down  —  Understanding  and 
Conscience  are  imprisoned,  and  Mansoul  hardens  its  heart, 
chiefly  "being  in  dread  of  slavery,"  and  thinking  liberty 
too  fine  a  thing  to  be  surrendered. 

Shaddai's  four  captains  find  that  they  can  do  no  more. 
The  covenant  of  works  will  not  answer.  They  send  home 
a  petition,  "  by  the  hand  of  that  good  man  Mr.  Love  to 
Mansoul,"  to  beg  that  some  new  general  may  come  to  lead 
them.  The  preordained  time  has  now  arrived,  and  Em- 
manuel himself  is  to  take  the  command.  He,  too,  selects 
his  captains — Credence  and  Good  Hope,  Charity,  and  In- 
nocence, and  Patience ;  and  the  captains  have  their  squires, 
the  counterparts  of  themselves — Promise  and  Expectation, 
Pitiful,  Harmless,  and  Suffer  Long.  Emmanuel's  armour 
shines  like  the  sun.  He  has  forty-four  battering-rams  and 
twenty-two  slings — the  sixty-six  books  of  the  Bible — each 
made  of  pure  gold.  He  throws  up  mounds  and  trenches, 
and  arms  them  with  his  rams,  five  of  the  largest  being 
planted  on  Mount  Hearken,  over  against  Eargate.  Bun- 
yan  was  too  reverent  to  imitate  the  Mystery  Plays,  and 
introduce  a  Mount  Calvary  with  the  central  sacrifice 
upon  it.  The  sacrifice  is  supposed  to  have  been  already 
offered  elsewhere.  Emmanuel  offers  mercy  to  Mansoul, 
and  when  it  is  rejected  he  threatens  judgment  and  terror. 


130  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

Diabolus,  being  wiser  than  man,  is  made  to  know  that  his 
hour  is  approaching.  He  goes  in  person  to  Mouthgatc  to 
protest  and  remonstrate.  He  asks  why  Emmanuel  is  come 
to  torment  him.  Mansoul  has  disowned  Shaddai  and 
sworn  allegiance  to  himself.  He  begs  Emmanuel  to  leave 
him  to  rule  his  own  subjects  in  peace. 

Emmanuel  tells  him  "he  is  a  thief  and  a  liar." 
"  When,"  Emmanuel  is  made  to  say,  "  Mansoul  sinned  by 
hearkening  to  thy  lie,  I  put  in  and  became  a  surety  to  my 
Father,  body  for  body,  soul  for  soul,  that  I  would  make 
amends  for  Mansoul's  transgressions,  and  my  Father  did 
accept  thereof.  So,  when  the  time  appointed  was  come,  I 
gave  body  for  body,  soul  for  soul,  life  for  life,  blood  for 
blood,  and  so  redeemed  my  beloved  Mansoul.  My  Father's 
law  and  justice,  that  were  both  concerned  in  the  threaten- 
ing upon  transgression,  are  both  now  satisfied,  and  very 
well  content  that  Mansoul  should  be  delivered." 

Even  against  its  deliverers,  Mansoul  was  defended  by 
the  original  condition  of  its  constitution.  There  was  no 
way  into  it  but  through  the  gates.  Diabolus,  feeling  that 
Emmanuel  still  had  diflSculties  before  him,  withdrew  from 
the  wall,  and  sent  a  messenger,  Mr.  Loth  to  Stoop,  to  offer 
alternative  terms,  to  one  or  other  of  which  he  thought 
Emmanuel  might  consent.  Emmanuel  might  be  titular 
sovereign  of  all  Mansoul,  if  Diabolus  might  keep  the  ad- 
ministration of  part  of  it.  If  this  could  not  be,  Diabolus 
requested  to  be  allowed  to  reside  in  Mansoul  as  a  private 
person.  If  Emmanuel  insisted  on  his  own  personal  ex- 
clusion, at  least  he  expected  that  his  friends  and  kin- 
dred might  continue  to  live  there,  and  that  he  himself 
might  now  and  then  write  them  letters,  and  send  them 
presents  and  messages,  "in  remembrance  of  the  merry 
times  they  had  enjoyed  together."     Finally,  he  would  like 


vra.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR"  131 

to  be  consulted  occasionally  when  any  diflSculties  arose  in 
Man  soul. 

It  will  be  seen  that  in  the  end  Mansoul  was,  in  fact,  left 
liable  to  communications  from  Diabolus  very  much  of  this 
kind.  Emmanuel's  answer,  however,  is  a  peremptory  No. 
Diabolus  must  take  himself  away,  and  no  more  must  be 
heard  of  him.  Seeing  that  there  was  no  other  resource, 
Diabolus  resolves  to  fight  it  out.  There  is  a  great  battle 
under  the  walls,  with  some  losses  on  Emmanuel's  side,  even 
Captain  Conviction  receiving  three  wounds  in  the  mouth. 
The  shots  from  the  gold  slings  mow  down  whole  ranks  of 
Diabolonians.  Mr.  Love  no  Good  and  Mr.  Ill  Pause  are 
wounded.  Old  Prejudice  and  Mr.  Anything  run  away. 
Lord  Will  be  Will,  who  still  fought  for  Diabolus,  was 
never  so  daunted  in  his  life :  *'  he  was  hurt  in  the  leg,  and 
limped." 

Diabolus,  when  the  fight  was  over,  came  again  to  the 
gate  with  fresh  proposals  to  Emmanuel.  "  I,"  he  said, 
"  will  persuade  Mansoul  to  receive  thee  for  their  Lord,  and 
I  know  that  they  will  do  it  the  sooner  when  they  under- 
stand that  I  am  thy  deputy.  I  will  show  them  wherein 
they  have  erred,  and  that  transgression  stands  in  the  way 
to  life.  I  will  show  them  the  Holy  Law  to  which  they 
must  conform,  even  that  which  they  have  broken.  I  will 
press  upon  them  the  necessity  of  a  reformation  according 
to  thy  law.  At  my  own  cost  I  will  set  up  and  maintain 
a  sufficient  ministry,  besides  lecturers,  in  Mansoul."  This 
obviously  means  the  Established  Church.  Unable  to  keep 
mankind  directly  in  his  own  service,  the  devil  offers  to 
entangle  them  in  the  covenant  of  works,  of  which  the 
Church  of  England  was  the  representative.  Emmanuel 
rebukes  him  for  his  guile  and  deceit.  "I  wUl  govern 
Mansoul,"  he  says,  "  by  new  laws,  new  officers,  new  mo- 


182  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

lives,  and  new  ways.  I  will  pull  down  the  town  and  build 
it  again,  and  it  shall  be  as  though  it  had  not  been,  and  it 
shall  be  the  glory  of  the  whole  universe." 

A  second  battle  follows.  Eargate  is  beaten  in.  The 
Prince's  army  enters  and  advances  as  far  as  the  old  Re- 
corder's house,  where  they  knock  and  demand  entrance. 
"  The  old  gentleman,  not  fully  knowing  their  design,  had 
kept  his  gates  shut  all  the  time  of  the  fight.  He  as  yet 
knew  nothing  of  the  great  designs  of  Emmanuel,  and 
could  not  tell  what  to  think."  The  door  is  violently 
broken  open,  and  the  house  is  made  Emmanuel's  head- 
quarters. The  townspeople,  with  Conscience  and  Under- 
standing at  their  head,  petition  that  their  lives  may  be 
spared ;  but  Emmanuel  gives  no  answer.  Captain  Boa- 
nerges and  Captain  Conviction  carrying  terror  into  all 
hearts.  Diabolus,  the  cause  of  -all  the  mischief,  had  re- 
treated into  the  castle.'  He  came  out  at  last,  and  sur- 
rendered, and  in  dramatic  fitness  he  clearly  ought  now  to 
have  been  made  away  with  in  a  complete  manner.  Un- 
fortunately, this  could  not  be  done.  He  was  stripped  of 
his  armour,  bound  to  Emmanuel's  chariot-wheels,  and  thus 
turned  out  of  Mansoul  "  into  parched  places  in  a  salt  land, 
where  he  might  seek  rest  and  find  none."  The  salt  land 
proved  as  insecure  a  prison  for  this  embarrassing  being  as 
the  pit  where  he  was  to  have  abode  forever. 

Meanwhile,  Mansoul  being  brought  upon  its  knees,  the 
inhabitants  were  summoned  into  the  castle  -  yard,  when 
Conscience,  Understanding,  and  Will  be  Will  were  com- 
mitted to  ward.  They  and  the  rest  again  prayed  for 
mercy,  but  again  without  effect.  Emmanuel  was  silent. 
They  drew  another  petition,  and  asked  Captain  Conviction 
to  present  it  for  them.  Captain  Conviction  declined  to 
'  The  heart. 


Tin.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  138 

be  an  advocate  for  rebels,  and  advised  them  to  send  it  by 
one  of  themselves,  with  a  rope  about  his  neck.  Mr.  De- 
sires Awake  went  with  it.  The  Prince  took  it  from  his 
hands,  and  wept  as  Desires  Awake  gave  it  in.  Emmanuel 
bade  him  go  his  way  till  the  request  could  be  considered. 
The  unhappy  criminals  knew  not  how  to  take  the  answer. 
Mr.  Understanding  thought  it  promised  well.  Conscience 
and  Will  be  Will,  borne  down  by  shame  for  their  sins, 
looked  for  nothing  but  immediate  death.  They  tried 
again.  They  threw  themselves  on  Emmanuel's  mercy. 
They  drew  up  a  confession  of  their  horrible  iniquities. 
This,  at  least,  they  wished  to  offer  to  him  whether  he 
would  pity  them  or  not.  For  a  messenger  some  of  them 
thought  of  choosing  one  Old  Good  Deed.  Conscience, 
however,  said  that  would  never  do.  Emmanuel  would 
answer,  "  Is  Old  Good  Deed  yet  alive  in  Mansoul  ?  Then 
let  Old  Good  Deed  save  it."  Desires  Awake  went  again 
with  the  rope  on  his  neck,  as  Captain  Conviction  rec- 
ommended. Mr.  Wet  Eyes  went  with  him,  wringing  his 
hands. 

Emmanuel  still  held  out  no  comfort;  he  promised 
merely  that  in  the  camp  the  next  morning  he  would  give 
such  an  answer  as  should  be  to  his  glory.  Nothing  but 
the  worst  was  now  looked  for.  Mansoul  passed  the  night 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  When  day  broke,  the  prisoners 
dressed  themselves  in  mourning,  and  were  carried  to  the 
camp  in  chains,  with  ropes  on  their  necks,  beating  their 
breasts.  Prostrate  before  Emmanuel's  throne,  they  re- 
peated their  confession.  They  acknowledged  that  death 
and  the  bottomless  pit  would  be  no  more  than  a  just  retri- 
bution for  their  crimes.  As  they  excused  nothing  and 
promised  nothing,  Emmanuel  at  once  delivered  them  their 
pardons  sealed  with  seven  seals.     He  took  off  their  ropes 


184  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

and  mourning,  clothed  them  in  shining  garments,  and  gave 
them  chains  and  jewels. 

Lord  Will  be  Will  "  swooned  outright."  When  he  re- 
covered, "the  Prince"  embraced  and  kissed  him.  The 
bells  in  Mansoul  were  set  ringing.  Bonfires  blazed.  Em- 
manuel reviewed  his  army ;  and  Mansoul,  ravished  at  the 
sight,  prayed  him  to  remain  and  be  their  King  for  ever. 
He  entered  the  city  again  in  triumph,  the  people  strewing 
boughs  and  flowers  before  him.  The  streets  and  squares 
were  rebuilt  on  a  new  model.  Lord  Will  be  Will,  now 
regenerate,  resumed  the  charge  of  the  gates.  The  old 
Lord  Mayor  was  reinstated.  Mr.  Knowledge  was  made 
Kecorder,  "  not  out  of  contempt  for  old  Conscience,  who 
was  by-and-bye  to  have  another  employment."  Diabo- 
lus's  image  was  taken  down  and  broken  to  pieces,  and  the 
inhabitants  of  Mansoul  were  so  happy  that  they  sang  of 
Emmanuel  in  their  sleep. 

Justice,  however,  remained  to  be  done  on  the  hardened 
and  impenitent. 

There  were  "  perhaps  necessities  in  the  nature  of  things," 
as  Bishop  Butler  says,  and  an  example  could  not  be  made 
of  the  principal  offender.  But  his  servants  and  old  of- 
ficials were  lurking  in  the  lanes  and  alleys.  They  were 
apprehended,  thrown  into  gaol,  and  brought  to  formal 
trial.  Here  we  have  Bunyan  at  his  best.  The  scene  in 
the  court  rises  to  the  level  of  the  famous  trial  of  Faithful 
in  Vanity  Fair.  The  prisoners  were  Diabolus's  Aldermen 
— Mr.  Atheism,  Mr.  Incredulity,  Mr.  Lustiugs,  Mr.  Forget 
Good,  Mr.  Hardheart,  Mr.  Falsepeace,  and  the  rest.  The 
proceedings  were  precisely  what  Bunyan  must  have  wit- 
nessed at  a  common  English  Assizes.  The  Judges  were 
the  new  Recorder  and  the  new  Mayor.  Mr.  Do-right  was 
Town  Clerk.     A  jury  was  empanelled  in  the  usual  way. 


Tin.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  136 

Mr.  Knowall,  Mr.  Telltrue,  and  Mr.  Hatelies  were  the  prin- 
cipal witnesses. 

Atheism  was  first  brought  to  the  bar,  being  charged 
"with  having  pertinaciously  and  doltingly  taught  that 
there  was  no  God."  He  pleaded  Not  Guilty.  Mr.  Know- 
all  was  placed  in  the  witness-box  and  sworn. 

"  My  Lord,"  he  said,  "  I  know  the  prisonei'  at  the  bar. 
I  and  he  were  once  in  Villains'  Lane  together,  and  he  at 
that  time  did  briskly  talk  of  diverse  opinions.  And  then 
and  there  I  heard  him  say  that  for  his  part  he  did  believe 
that  there  was  no  God.  *  But,'  said  he, '  I  can  profess  one 
and  be  religious  too,  if  the  company  I  am  in  and  the  circum- 
stances of  other  things,'  said  he, '  shall  put  me  upon  it.' " 

Telltrue  and  Hatelies  were  next  called. 

"  TelUime.  My  Lord,  I  was  formerly  a  great  companion  of  the  pria- 
oner's,  for  the  which  I  now  repent  me ;  and  I  have  often  heard  him 
say,  and  with  very  great  stomach-fulness,  that  he  believed  there  was 
neither  God,  Angel,  nor  Spirit. 

"  Town  Clerk.  Where  did  you  hear  him  say  so  ? 

"  Telltrue.  In  Blackmouth  Lane  and  in  Blasphemers'  Bow,  and  in 
many  other  places  besides. 

"  Town  Clerk.  Have  you  much  knowledge  of  him  ? 

"  Telltrue.  I  know  him  to  be  a  Diabolonian,  the  son  of  a  Diabolo- 
nian,  and  a  horrible  man  to  deny  a  Deity.  His  father's  name  was 
Never  be  Good,  and  he  had  more  children  than  this  Atheism. 

"  Town  Clm-k.  Mr.  Hatelies.  Look  upon  the  prisoner  at  the  bar. 
Do  you  know  him. 

"  Hatelies.  My  Lord,  this  Atheism  is  one  of  the  vilest  wretches 
that  ever  I  came  near  or  had  to  do  with  in  my  life.  I  have  heard 
him  say  that  there  is  no  God.  I  have  heard  him  say  that  there  is 
no  world  to  come,  no  sin,  nor  punishment  hereafter  ;  and,  moreover, 
I  have  heard  him  say  that  it  was  as  good  to  go  to  a  bad-house  as  to 
go  to  hear  a  sermon. 

"  Town  Clerk.  Where  did  you  hear  him  say  these  things  ? 

"  Hatelies.  In  Drunkards'  Row,  just  at  Rascal  Lane's  End,  at  a 
house  in  which  Mr.  Impiety  lived." 


IW  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

The  next  prisoner  was  Mr.  Lustings,  who  said  that  he 
was  of  high  birth,  and  "  used  to  pleasures  and  pastimes 
of  greatness."  He  had  always  been  allowed  to  follow  his 
own  inclinations,  and  it  seemed  strange  to  him  that  he 
should  be  called  in  question  for  things  which  not  only  he 
but  every  man  secretly  or  openly  approved. 

When  the  evidence  had  been  heard  against  him  he  ad- 
mitted frankly  its  general  correctness. 

"  I,"  he  said,  "  was  ever  of  opinion  that  the  happiest  life 
that  a  man  could  live  on  earth  was  to  keep  himself  back 
from  nothing  that  he  desired ;  nor  have  I  been  false  at 
any  time  to  this  opinion  of  mine,  but  have  lived  in  the 
love  of  my  notions  all  my  days.  Nor  was  I  ever  so  churl- 
ish, having  found  such  sweetness  in  them  myself,  as  to 
keep  the  commendation  of  them  from' others." 

Then  came  Mr.  Incredulity.  He  was  charged  with  hav- 
ing encouraged  the  town  of  Mansoul  to  resist  Shaddai. 
Incredulity,  too,  had  the  courage  of  his  opinions. 

"  I  know  not  Shaddai,"  he  said.  "  I  love  my  old  Prince. 
I  thought  it  my  duty  to  be  true  to  my  trust,  and  to  do 
what  I  could  to  possess  the  minds  of  the  men  of  Mansoul 
to  do  their  utmost  to  resist  strangers  and  foreigners,  and 
with  might  to  fight  against  them.  Nor  have  I  nor  shall  I 
change  my  opinion  for  fear  of  trouble,  though  you  at  pres- 
ent are  possessed  of  place  and  power." 

Forget  Good  pleaded  age  and  craziness.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  Diabolonian  called  Love  Naught  He  had  utter- 
ed blasphemous  speeches  in  AUbase  Lane,  next  door  to  the 
sign  of  "  Conscience  Seared  with  a  Hot  Iron ;"  also  in 
Flesh  Lane,  right  opposite  the  Church ;  also  in  Nauseous 
Street ;  also  at  the  sign  of  the  "  Reprobate,"  next  door  to 
the  "  Descent  into  the  Pit." 

Falsepeace  insisted  that  he  was  wrongly  named  in  the 


vin.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  Ul 

indictment.  His  real  name  was  Peace,  and  he  had  always 
laboured  for  peace.  When  war  broke  out  between  Shad- 
dai  and  Diabolus,  he  had  endeavoured  to  reconcile  them, 
&c.  Evidence  was  given  that  Falsepeace  was  his  right 
designation.  His  father's  name  was  Flatter.  His  moth- 
er, before  she  married  Flatter,  was  called  Mrs.  Sootheup. 
When  her  child  was  bom  she  always  spoke  of  him  as 
Falsepeace.  She  would  call  him  twenty  times  a  day,  my 
little  Falsepeace,  my  pretty  Falsepeace,  my  sweet  rogue 
Falsepeace!  &c. 

The  court  rejected  his  plea.  He  was  told  "  that  he  had 
wickedly  maintained  the  town  of  Mansoul  in  rebellion 
against  its  king,  in  a  false,  lying,  and  damnable  peace,  con- 
trary to  the  law  of  Shaddai.  Peace  that  was  not  a  com- 
panion of  truth  and  holiness,  was  an  accursed  and  treach- 
erous peace,  and  was  grounded  on  a  lie. 

No  Truth  had  assisted  with  his  own  hands  in  pulling 
down  the  image  of  Shaddai.  He  had  set  up  the  horned  im- 
age of  the  beast  Diabolus  at  the  same  place,  and  had  torn 
and  consumed  all  that  remained  of  the  laws  of  the  king. 

Pitiless  said  his  name  was  not  Pitiless,  but  Cheer  Up. 
He  disliked  to  see  Mansoul  inclined  to  melancholy,  and 
that  was  all  his  offence.  Pitiless,  however,  was  proved  to 
be  the  name  of  him.  It  was  a  habit  of  the  Diabolonians 
to  assume  counterfeit  appellations.  Covetousness  called 
himself  Good  Husbandry ;  Pride  called  himself  Handsome ; 
and  so  on. 

Mr.  Haughty's  figure  is  admirably  drawn  in  a  few  lines. 
Mr.  Haughty,  when  arraigned,  declared  "  that  he  had  car- 
ried himself  bravely,  not  considering  who  was  his  foe,  or 
what  was  the  cause  in  which  he  was  engaged.  It  was 
enough  for  him  if  he  fought  like  a  man  and  came  off  vic- 
torious." 


188  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

The  jury,  it  seems,  made  no  distinctions  between  opin- 
ions and  acts.  They  did  not  hold  that  there  was  any 
divine  right  in  man  to  think  what  he  pleased,  and  to  say 
what  he  thought.  Bunyan  had  suffered  as  a  martyr ;  but 
it  was  as  a  martyr  for  truth,  not  for  general  licence.  The 
genuine  Protestants  never  denied  that  it  was  right  to  pro- 
hibit men  from  teaching  lies,  and  to  punish  them  if  they 
disobeyed.  The  persecution  of  which  they  complained 
was  the  persecution  of  the  honest  man  by  the  knave. 

All  the  prisoners  were  found  guilty  by  a  unanimous 
verdict.  Even  Mr.  Moderate,  who  was  one  of  the  jury, 
thought  a  man  must  be  wilfully  blind  who  wished  to  spare 
them.  They  were  sentenced  to  be  executed  the  next  day. 
Incredulity  contrived  to  escape  in  the  night.  Search  was 
made  for  him,  but  he  was  not  to  be  found  in  Mansoul. 
He  had  fled  beyond  the  wails,  and  had  joined  Diabolus 
near  Hell  Gate.  The  rest,  we  are  told,  were  crucified — 
crucified  by  the  hands  of  the  men  of  Mansoul  them- 
selves. They  fought  and  struggled  at  the  place  of  exe- 
cution so  violently  that  Shaddai's  secretary  was  obliged 
to  send  assistance.  But  justice  was  done  at  last,  and  all 
the  Diabolonians,  except  Incredulity,  were  thus  made  an 
end  of. 

They  were  made  an  end  of  for  a  time  only.  Mansoul, 
by  faith  in  Christ,  and  by  the  help  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  had 
crucified  all  manner  of  sin  in  its  members.  It  was  faith 
that  had  now  the  victory.  Unbelief  had,  unfortunately, 
escaped.  It  had  left  Mansoul  for  the  time,  and  had  gone 
to  its  master  the  devil.  But  unbelief,  being  intellectual, 
had  not  been  crucified  with  the  sins  of  the  flesh,  and  thus 
could  come  back,  and  undo  the  work  which  faith  had  ac- 
complished. I  do  not  know  how  far  this  view  approves 
itself  to  the  more  curious  theologians.     Unbelief  itself  is 


Tin.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR"  189 

said  to  be  a  product  of  the  will ;  but  an  allegory  must  not 
be  cross-questioned  too  minutely. 

The  cornucopia  of  spiritual  blessings  was  now  opened 
on  Mansoul,  All  offences  were  fully  and  completely  for- 
given. A  Holy  Law  and  Testament  was  bestowed  on  the 
people  for  their  comfort  and  consolation,  with  a  portion 
of  the  grace  which  dwelt  in  the  hearts  of  Shaddai  and 
Emmanuel  themselves.  They  were  to  be  allowed  free 
access  to  Emmanuel's  palace  at  all  seasons,  he  himself 
undertaking  to  hear  them  and  redress  their  grievances, 
and  they  were  empowered  and  enjoined  to  destroy  all  Di- 
abolonians  who  might  be  found  at  any  time  within  their 
precincts. 

These  grants  were  embodied  in  a  charter  which  was  set 
up  in  gold  letters  on  the  castle  door.  Two  ministers  were 
appointed  to  carry  on  the  government — one  from  Shad- 
dai's  court ;  the  other  a  native  of  Mansoul.  The  first  was 
Shaddai's  Chief  Secretary,  the  Holy  Spirit.  He,  if  they 
were  obedient  and  well-conducted,  would  be  "  ten  times 
better  to  them  than  the  whole  world."  But  they  were 
cautioned  to  be  careful  of  their  behaviour,  for  if  they 
grieved  him  he  would  turn  against  them,  and  the  worst 
might  then  be  looked  for.  The  second  minister  was  the 
old  Recorder,  Mr.  Conscience,  for  whom,  as  was  said,  a 
new  oflSce  had  been  provided.  The  address  of  Emmanuel 
to  Conscience,  in  handing  his  commission  to  him,  contains 
the  essence  of  Bunyan's  creed : 

"Thou  must  confine  thyself  to  the  teaching  of  moral 
virtues,  to  civil  and  natural  duties.  But  thou  must  not 
attempt  to  presume  to  be  a  revealer  of  those  high  and  su- 
pernatural mysteries  that  are  kept  close  in  the  bosom  of 
Shaddai,  my  father.  For  those  things  knows  no  man  ;  nor 
can  any  reveal  them  but  my  father's  secretary  only.  .  .  . 
K     V  10 


140  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

In  all  high  and  supernatural  things  thou  must  go  to  him 
for  information  and  knowledge.  Wherefore  keep  low 
and  be  humble ;  and  remember  that  the  Diabolonians  that 
kept  not  their  first  charge,  but  left  their  own  standing, 
are  now  made  prisoners  in  the  pit.  Be  therefore  con- 
tent with  thy  station.  I  have  made  thee  my  father's  vice- 
gerent on  earth  in  the  things  of  which  I  have  made  men- 
tion before.  Take  thou  power  to  teach  them  to  Mansoul ; 
yea,  to  impose  them  with  whips  and  chastisements  if  they 
shall  not  willingly  hearken  to  do  thy  commandments.  .  .  . 
And  one  thing  more  to  my  beloved  Mr.  Recorder,  and  to 
all  the  town  of  Mansoul.  You  must  not  dwell  in  nor  stay 
upon  anything  of  that  which  he  hath  in  commission  to 
teach  you,  as  to  your  trust  and  expectation  of  the  next 
world.  Of  the  next  world,  I  say ;  for  I  purpose  to  give 
another  to  Mansoul  when  this  is  worn  out.  But  for  that 
you  must  wholly  and  solely  have  recourse  to  and  make 
stay  upon  the  doctrine  of  your  teacher  of  the  first  order. 
Yea,  Mr.  Recorder  himself  must  not  look  for  life  from 
that  which  he  himself  revealeth.  His  dependence  for 
that  must  be  founded  in  the  doctrine  of  the  other  preacher. 
Let  Mr.  Recorder  also  take  heed  that  he  receive  not  any 
doctrine  or  points  of  doctrine  that  are  not  communicated 
to  him  by  his  superior  teacher,  nor  yet  within  the  precincts 
of  his  own  formal  knowledge." 

Here,  as  a  work  of  art,  The  Holy  War  should  have  its 
natural  end.  Mansoul  had  been  created  pure  and  happy. 
The  devil  plotted  against  it,  took  it,  defiled  it.  The  Lord 
of  the  town  came  to  the  rescue,  drove  the  devil  out,  exe- 
cuted his  oflScers  and  destroyed  his  works.  Mansoul,  ac- 
cording to  Emmanuel's  promise,  was  put  into  a  better 
condition  than  that  in  which  it  was  originally  placed. 
New  laws  were  drawn  for  it.     New  ministers  were  ap- 


▼III.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  141 

pointed  to  execute  them.  Vice  had  been  destroyed.  Un- 
belief had  been  driven  away.  The  future  lay  serene  and 
bright  before  it ;  all  trials  and  dangers  being  safely  passed. 
Thus  we  have  all  the  parts  of  a  complete  drama — the  fair 
beginning,  the  perils,  the  struggles,  and  the  final  victory 
of  good.  At  this  point,  for  purposes  of  art,  the  curtain 
ought  to  fall. 

For  purposes  of  art  —  not,  however,  for  purposes  of 
truth;  for  the  drama  of  Mansoul  was  still  incomplete, 
and  will  remain  incomplete  till  man  puts  on  another  nat- 
ure or  ceases  altogether  to  be.  Christianity  might  place 
him  in  a  new  relation  to  his  Maker,  and,  according  to 
Bunyan,  might  expel  the  devil  out  of  his  heart.  But  for 
practical  purposes,  as  Mansoul  too  well  knows,  the  devil 
is  still  in  possession.  At  intervals  —  as  in  the  first  cen- 
turies of  the  Christian  era,  for  a  period  in  the  middle 
ages,  and  again  in  Protestant  countries  for  another  period 
at  the  Reformation — mankind  made  noble  efforts  to  drive 
him  out,  and  make  the  law  of  God  into  reality.  But  he 
comes  back  again,  and  the  world  is  again  as  it  was.  The 
vices  again  flourish  which  had  been  nailed  to  the  Cross. 
The  statesman  finds  it  as  little  possible  as  ever  to  take 
moral  right  and  justice  for  his  rule  in  politics.  The 
Evangelical  preacher  continues  to  confess  and  deplore  the 
desperate  wickedness  of  the  human  heart.  The  devil  had 
been  deposed,  but  his  faithful  subjects  have  restored  him 
to  his  throne.  The  stone  of  Sisyphus  has  been  brought 
to  the  brow  of  the  hill  only  to  rebound  again  to  the  bot- 
tom. The  old  battle  has  to  be  fought  a  second  time,  and, 
for  all  we  can  see,  no  closing  victory  will  ever  be  in  "  this 
country  of  Universe."  Bunyan  knew  this  but  too  well. 
He  tries  to  conceal  it  from  himself  by  treating  Mansoul 
alternately  as  the  soul  of  a  single  individual  from  which 


142  BUNYAN.  [char 

the  devil  may  be  so  expelled  as  never  dangerously  to 
come  back,  or  as  the  collective  souls  of  the  Christian 
■world.  But,  let  him  mean  which  of  the  two  he  will,  the 
overpowering  fact  remains  that,  from  the  point  of  view  of 
his  own  theology,  the  great  majority  of  mankind  are  the 
devil's  servants  through  life,  and  are  made  over  to  him 
everlastingly  when  their  lives  are  over;  while  the  human 
race  itself  continues  to  follow  its  idle  amusements  and  its 
sinful  pleasures  as  if  no  Emmanuel  had  ever  come  from 
heaven  to  rescue  it.  Thus  the  situation  is  incomplete,  and 
the  artistic  treatment  necessarily  unsatisfactory — nay,  in  a 
sense  even  worse  than  unsatisfactory — for  the  attention  of 
the  reader,  being  reawakened  by  the  fresh  and  lively  treat- 
ment of  the  subject,  refuses  to  be  satisfied  with  conven- 
tional explanatory  commonplaces.  His  mind  is  puzzled; 
his  faith  wavers  in  its  dependence  upon  a  Being  who  can 
permit  His  work  to  be  spoilt.  His  power  defied,  His  victo- 
ries even,  when  won,  made  useless. 

Thus  we  take  up  the  continuation  of  The  Holy  War 
with  a  certain  weariness  ana  expectation  of  disappoint- 
ment. The  delivery  of  Mansoul  has  not  been  finished 
after  all,  and,  for  all  that  we  can  see,  the  struggle  between 
Shaddai  and  Diabolus  may  go  on  to  eternity.  Emmanuel, 
before  he  withdraws  his  presence,  warns  the  inhabitants 
that  many  Diabolonians  are  still  lurking  about  the  outside 
walls  of  the  town.*  The  names  are  those  in  St.  Paul's  list 
— Fornication,  Adultery,  Murder,  Anger,  Lasciviousness, 
Deceit,  Evil  Eye,  Drunkenness,  Revelling,  Idolatry,  Witch- 
craft, Variance,  Emulation,  Wrath,  Strife,  Sedition,  Heresy. 
If  all  these  were  still  abroad,  not  much  had  been  gained 
by  the  crucifixion  of  the  Aldermen.     For  the  time,  it  was 

»  The  Flesh. 


nn.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  143 

tnae,  they  did  not  show  themselves  openly.  Mansoul  after 
the  conquest  was  clothed  in  white  linen,  and  was  in  a  state 
of  peace  and  glory.  But  the  linen  was  speedily  soiled 
again.  Mr.  Carnal  Security  became  a  great  person  in  Man- 
soul.  The  Chief  Secretary's  functions  fell  early  into  abey- 
ance. He  discovered  the  Recorder  and  Lord  Will  be  Will 
at  dinner  in  Mr.  Carnal  Security's  parlour,  and  ceased  to 
communicate  with  them.  Mr.  Godly  Fear  sounded  an 
alarm,  and  Mr.  Carnal  Security's  house  was  burnt  by  the 
mob ;  but  Mansoul's  backslidings  grew  worse.  It  had  its 
fits  of  repentance,  and  petitioned  Emmanuel,  but  the  mes- 
senger could  have  no  admittance.  The  Lusts  of  the  Flesh 
came  out  of  their  dens.  They  held  a  meeting  in  the  room 
of  Mr.  Mischief,  and  wrote  to  invite  Diabolus  to  return. 
Mr.  Profane  carried  their  letter  to  Hell  Gate.  Cerberus 
opened  it,  and  a  cry  of  joy  ran  through  the  prison.  Beel- 
zebub, Lucifer,  ApoUyon,  and  the  rest  of  the  devils  came 
crowding  to  hear  the  news.  Deadman's  bell  was  rung. 
Diabolus  addressed  the  assembly,  putting  them  in  hopes 
of  recovering  their  prize.  "  Nor  need  you  fear,  he  said, 
that  if  ever  we  get  Mansoul  again,  we  after  that  shall  be 
cast  out  any  more.  It  is  the  law  of  that  Prince  that  now 
they  own,  that  if  we  get  them  a  second  time  they  shall  be 
ours  forever."  He  returned  a  warm  answer  to  his  friend, 
"  which  was  subscribed  as  given  at  the  Pit's  mouth,  by  the 
joint  consent  of  all  the  Princes  of  Darkness,  by  me,  Di- 
abolus." The  plan  was  to  corrupt  Mansoul's  morals,  and 
three  devils  of  rank  set  ofE  disguised  to  take  service  in  the 
town,  and  make  their  way  into  the  households  of  Mr. 
Mind,  Mr.  Godly  Fear,  and  Lord  Will  be  Will.  Godly 
Fear  discovered  his  mistake,  and  turned  the  devil  out. 
The  other  two  established  themselves  successfully,  and  Mr. 
Profane  was  soon  at  Hell  Gate  again  to  report  progress. 


144  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

Cerberus  welcomed  him  with  a  "  St.  Mary,  I  am  glad  to 
see  thee."  Another  council  was  held  in  Pandemonium, 
and  Diabolus  was  impatient  to  show  himself  again  on  the 
scene.  Apollyon  advised  him  not  to  be  in  a  hurry.  "  Let 
our  friends,"  he  said,  "  draw  Mansoul  more  and  more  into 
sin — there  is  nothing  like  sin  to  devour  Mansoul;"  but 
Diabolus  would  not  wait  for  so  slow  a  process,  and  raised 
an  army  of  Doubters  "  from  the  land  of  Doubting,  on  the 
confines  of  Hell  Gate  HilL"  "  Doubt,"  Bunyan  always 
admitted,  had  been  his  own  most  dangerous  enemy. 

Happily  the  towns -people  became  aware  of  the  peril 
which  threatened  them.  Mr.  Prywel),  a  great  lover  of 
Mansoul,  overheard  some  Diabolonians  talking  about  it  at 
a  place  called  Vile  Hill.  He  carried  his  information  to 
the  Lord  Mayor ;  the  Recorder  rang  the  Alarm  Bell ;  Man- 
soul flew  to  penitence,  held  a  day  of  fasting  and  humilia- 
tion, and  prayed  to  Shaddai.  The  Diabolonians  were 
hunted  out,  and  all  that  could  be  found  were  killed.  So 
far  as  haste  and  alarm  would  permit,  Mansoul  mended  its 
ways.  But  on  came  the  Doubting  army,  led  by  Incredu- 
lity, who  had  escaped  crucifixion — "none  was  truer  to 
Diabolus  than  he  " — on  they  came  under  their  several  cap- 
tains. Vocation  Doubters,  Grace  Doubters,  Salvation  Doubt- 
ers, &c. ;  figures  now  gone  to  shadow ;  then  the  deadliest 
foes  of  every  English  Puritan  soul.  Mansoul  appealed 
passionately  to  the  Chief  Secretary ;  but  the  Chief  Secre- 
tary '*  had  been  grieved,"  and  would  have  nothing  to  say 
to  it.  The  town  legions  went  out  to  meet  the  invaders 
with  good  words,  Prayer,  and  singing  of  Psalms.  The 
Doubters  replied  with  "  horrible  objections,"  which  were 
frightfully  effective.  Lord  Reason  was  wounded  in  the 
head,  and  the  Lord  Mayor  in  the  eye ;  Mr.  Mind  received 
a  shot  in  the  stomach,  and  Conscience  was  hit  near  the 


Tin.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  146 

heart ;  but  the  wounds  were  not  mortal.  Mansoul  had  the 
best  of  it  in  the  first  engagement.  Terror  was  followed 
by  boasting  and  self-confidence ;  a  night  sally  was  attempt- 
ed— night  being  the  time  when  the  Doubters  were  strong- 
est. The  sally  failed,  and  the  men  of  Mansoul  were  turned 
to  rout.  Diabolus's  army  attacked  Eargate,  stormed  the 
walls,  forced  their  way  into  the  town,  and  captured  the 
whole  of  it  except  the  castle.  Then  "  Mansoul  became  a 
den  of  dragons,  an  emblem  of  Hell,  a  place  of  total  dark- 
ness." "  Mr.  Conscience's  wounds  so  festered  that  he  could 
have  no  rest  day  or  night."  "  Now  a  man  might  have 
walked  for  days  together  in  Mansoul,  and  scarce  have  seen 
one  in  the  town  that  looked  like  a  religious  man.  Oh, 
the  fearful  state  of  Mansoul  now !"  "  Now  every  corner 
swarmed  with  outlandish  Doubters ;  Red  Coats  and  Black 
Coats  walked  the  town  by  clusters,  and  filled  the  houses 
with  hideous  noises,  lying  stories,  and  blasphemous  lan- 
guage against  Shaddai  and  his  Son." 

This  is  evidently  meant  for  fashionable  London  in  the 
time  of  Charles  II.  Bunyan  was  loyal  to  the  King.  He 
was  no  believer  in  moral  regeneration  through  political  rev- 
olution. But  none  the  less  he  could  see  what  was  under 
his  eyes,  and  he  knew  what  to  think  of  it. 

All  was  not  lost,  for  the  castle  still  held  out.  The  only 
hope  was  in  Emmanuel,  and  the  garrison  proposed  to  peti- 
tion again  in  spite  of  the  ill-reception  of  their  first  mes- 
sengers. Godly  Fear  reminded  them  that  no  petition 
would  be  received  which  was  not  signed  by  the  Lord  Sec- 
retary, and  that  the  Lord  Secretary  would  sign  nothing 
which  he  had  not  himself  drawn  up.  The  Lord  Secretary, 
when  appealed  to  in  the  proper  manner,  no  longer  refused 
his  assistance.  Captain  Credence  flew  up  to  Shaddai's 
court  with  the  simple  words  that  Mansoul  renounced  all 


146  BUNTAN.  [chap. 

trust  in  its  own  strength  and  relied  upon  its  Saviour. 
This  time  its  prayer  would  be  heard. 

The  devils,  meanwhile,  triumphant  though  they  were, 
discovered  that  they  could  have  no  permanent  victory  un- 
less they  could  reduce  the  castle.  "Doubters  at  a  dis- 
tance," Beelzebub  said,  "  are  but  like  objections  repelled 
by  arguments.  Can  we  but  get  them  into  the  hold,  and 
make  them  possessors  of  that,  the  day  will  be  our  own." 
The  object  was,  therefore,  to  corrupt  Mansoul  at  the  heart. 

Then  follows  a  very  curious  passage.  Bunyan  had  still 
his  eye  on  England,  and  had  discerned  the  quarter  from 
which  her  real  danger  would  approach.  Mansoul,  the 
devil  perceived,  *'  was  a  market-town,  much  given  to  com- 
merce." "  It  would  be  possible  to  dispose  of  some  of  the 
devil's  wares  there."  The  people  would  be  filled  full,  and 
made  rich,  and  would  forget  Emmanuel.  "  Mansoul,"  they 
said,  "  shall  be  so  cumbered  with  abundance  that  they  shall 
be  forced  to  make  their  castle  a  warehouse."  Wealth 
once  made  the  first  object  of  existence,  "  Diabolus's  gang 
will  have  easy  entrance,  and  the  castle  will  be  our  own." 

Political  economy  was  still  sleeping  in  the  womb  of. 
futurity.  Diabolus  was  unable  to  hasten  its  birth,  and  an 
experiment  which  Bunyan  thought  would  certainly  have 
succeeded  was  not  to  be  tried.  The  Deus  ex  MachinA  ap- 
peared with  its  flaming  sword.  The  Doubting  army  was 
cut  to  pieces,  smd  Mansoul  was  saved.  Again,  however, 
the  work  was  imperfectly  done.  Diabolus,  like  the  bad 
genius  in  the  fairy  tale,  survived  for  fresh  mischief.  Diab- 
olus flew  off  again  to  Hell  Gate,  and  was  soon  at  the  head 
of  a  new  host ;  part  composed  of  fugitive  Doubters  whom 
he  rallied,  and  part  of  a  new  set  of  enemies  called  Blood- 
men,  by  whom  we  are  to  understand  persecutors,  "  a  peo- 
ple from  a  land  that  lay  under  the  Dog  Star."     "  Captain 


vm.]  "THE  HOLY  WAR."  Ul 

Pope  "  was  chief  of  the  Bloodmen.  His  escutcheon  "  was 
the  stake,  the  flame,  and  good  men  in  it."  The  Bloodmen 
had  done  Diabojus  wonderful  service  in  time  past.  "  Once 
they  had  forced  Emmanuel  out  of  the  Kingdom  of  the  Uni- 
verse, and  why,  thought  he,  might  they  not  do  it  again  ?" 

Emmanuel  did  not  this  time  go  in  person  to  the  en- 
counter. It  was  enough  to  send  his  captains.  The  Doubt- 
ers fled  at  the  first  onset.  *'  The  Bloodmen,  when  they 
saw  that  no  Emmanuel  was  in  the  field,  concluded  that 
no  Emmanuel  was  in  Mansoul.  Wherefore,  they,  looking 
upon  what  the  captains  did  to  be,  as  they  called  it,  a  fruit 
of  the  extravagancy  of  their  wild  and  foolish  fancies,  rather 
despised  them  than  feared  them."  "  They  proved,  never- 
theless, chicken-hearted,  when  they  saw  themselves  match- 
ed and  equalled."  The  chiefs  were  taken  prisoners,  and 
brought  to  trial  like  Atheism  and  his  companions,  and  so, 
with  an  address  from  the  Prince,  the  story  comes  to  a 
close. 

Thus  at  last  The  Holy  War  ends,  or  seems  to  end.  It 
is  as  if  Bunyan  had  wished  to  show  that  though  the  con- 
verted Christian  was  still  liable  to  the  assaults  of  Satan, 
and  even  to  be  beaten  down  and  overcome  by  him,  his 
state  was  never  afterwards  so  desperate  as  it  had  been  be- 
fore the  redemption,  and  that  he  had  assistance  ready  at 
hand  to  save  him  when  near  extremity.  But  the  reader 
whose  desire  it  is  that  good  shall  triumph,  and  evil  be  put 
to  shame  and  overthrown,  remains  but  partially  satisfied ; 
and  the  last  conflict  and  its  issues  leave  Mansoul  still  sub- 
ject to  fresh  attacks.  Diabolus  was  still  at  large.  Carnal 
Sense  broke  prison,  and  continued  to  lurk  in  the  town. 
Unbelief  "  was  a  nimble  Jack :  him  they  could  never  lay 
hold  of,  though  they  attempted  to  do  it  often."  Unbelief 
remained  in  Mansoul  till  the  time  that  Mansoul  ceased  to 
!7* 


148  BUNYAN.  [chap.  tiii. 

dwell  in  the  country  of  the  Universe ;  and  where  Unbelief 
was,  Diabolus  would  not  be  without  a  friend  to  open  the 
gates  to  him.  Bunyan  says,  indeed,  that  "  he  was  stoned 
as  often  as  he  showed  himself  in  the  streets."  He  shows 
himself  in  the  streets  much  at  his  ease  in  these  days  of 
ours  after  two  more  centuries. 

Here  lies  the  real  wealcness  of  The  Holy  War.  It  may 
be  looked  at  either  as  the  war  in  the  soul  of  each  sinner 
that  is  saved,  or  as  the  war  for  the  deliverance  of  human- 
ity. Under  the  first  aspect  it  leaves  out  of  sight  the  large 
majority  of  mankind  who  are  not  supposed  to  be  saved, 
and  out  of  whom,  therefore,  Diabolus  is  not  driven  at  all. 
Under  the  other  aspect  the  struggle  is  still  unfinished ;  the 
last  act  of  the  drama  has  still  to  be  played,  and  we  know 
not  what  the  conclusion  is  to  be. 

To  attempt  to  represent  it,  therefore,  as  a  work  of  art, 
with  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end,  is  necessarily  a 
failure.  The  mysteries  and  contradictions  which  the 
Christian  revelation  leaves  unsolved  are  made  tolerable  to 
us  by  Hope.  We  are  prepared  to  find  in  religion  many 
things  which  we  cannot  understand;  and  diflBculties  do 
not  perplex  us  so  long  as  they  remain  in  a  form  to  which 
we  are  accustomed.  To  emphasise  the  problem  by  offering 
it  to  us  in  an  allegory,  of  which  we  are  presumed  to  pos- 
sess a  key,  serves  only  to  revive  Man  Friday's  question,  or 
the  old  dilemma  which  neither  intellect  nor  imagination 
has  ever  dealt  with  successfully.  "Deus  aut  non  vult 
toUere  mala,  aut  nequit.  Si  non  vult  non  est  bonus.  Si 
nequit  non  est  omnipotens."  It  is  wiser  to  confess  with 
Butler  that  "there  may  be  necessities  in  the  nature  of 
things  which  we  are  not  acquainted  with." 


CHAPTER  IX. 
"thb  pilgrim's  progress." 

If  The  Holy  War  is  an  unfit  subject  for  allegorical 
treatment,  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  is  no  less  perfectly 
adapted  for  it.  The  Holy  War  is  a  representation  of  the 
struggle  of  human  nature  with  evil,  and  the  struggle  is 
left  undecided.  The  Pilgrim! s  Progress  is  a  representa- 
tion of  the  efforts  of  a  single  soul  after  holiness,  which 
has  its  natural  termination  when  the  soul  quits  its  mortal 
home  and  crosses  the  dark  river.  Each  one  of  us  has  his 
own  life-battle  to  fight  out,  his  own  sorrows  and  trials,  his 
own  failures  or  successes,  and  his  own  end.  He  wins  the 
game,  or  he  loses  it.  The  account  is  wound  up,  and  the 
curtain  falls  upon  him.  Here  Bunyan  had  a  material  as 
excellent  in  itself  as  it  was  exactly  suited  to  his  peculiar 
genius;  and  his  treatment  of  the  subject  from  his  own 
point  of  view — that  of  English  Protestant  Christianity — 
is  unequalled,  and  never  will  be  equalled.  I  may  say 
never,  for  in  this  world  of  change  the  point  of  view  alters 
fast,  and  never  continues  in  one  stay.  As  we  are  swept 
along  the  stream  of  time,  lights  and  shadows  shift  their 
places,  mountain  plateaus  turn  to  sharp  peaks,  mountain 
ranges  dissolve  into  vapour.  The  river  which  has  been 
gliding  deep  and  slow  along  the  plain,  leaps  suddenly  over 
a  precipice  and  plunges  foaming  down  a  sunless  gorge. 


160  BUNTAN.  [coat. 

In  the  midst  of  changing  circumstances  the  central  ques- 
tion remains  the  same — What  am  I?  what  is  this  world, 
in  which  I  appear  and  disappear  like  a  bubble  ?  who  made 
me?  and  what  am  I  to  do?  Some  answer  or  other  the 
mind  of  man  demands  and  insists  on  receiving.  Theolo- 
gian or  poet  offers,  at  long  intervals,  explanations  which 
are  accepted  as  credible  for  a  time.  They  wear  out,  and 
another  follows,  and  then  another.  Bunyan's  answer  has 
served  average  English  men  and  women  for  two  hundred 
years,  but  no  human  being  with  Bunyan's  intellect  and 
Bunyan's  sincerity  can  again  use  similar  language;  and 
The  Pilgrim's  Progress  is  and  will  remain  unique  of  its 
kind — an  imperishable  monument  of  the  form  in  which 
the  problem  presented  itself  to  a  person  of  singular  truth- 
fulness, simplicity,  and  piety,  who,  after  many  struggles, 
accepted  the  Puritan  creed  as  the  adequate  solution  of  it. 
It  was  composed  exactly  at  the  time  when  it  was  possible 
for  such  a  book  to  come  into  being — the  close  of  the 
period  when  the  Puritan  formula  was  a  real  belief,  and 
was  about  to  change  from  a  living  principle  into  an  intel- 
lectual opinion.  So  long  as  a  religion  is  fully  alive,  men 
do  not  talk  about  it  or  make  allegories  about  it.  They 
assume  its  truth  as  out  of  reach  of  question,  and  they 
simply  obey  its  precepts  as  they  obey  the  law  of  the  land. 
It  becomes  a  subject  of  art  and  discourse  only  when  men 
are  unconsciously  ceasing  to  believe,  and  therefore  the 
more  vehemently  think  that  they  believe,  and  repudiate 
with  indignation  the  suggestion  that  doubt  has  found  its 
way  into  them.  After  this,  religion  no  longer  governs 
their  lives.  It  governs  only  the  language  in  which  they 
express  themselves,  and  they  preserve  it  eagerly,  in  the 
shape  of  elaborate  observances  or  in  the  agreeable  forms 
of  art  and  literature. 


IX.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  161 

The  PilgrinCs  Progress  was  written  before  The  Holy 
War,  while  Bunyan  was  still  in  prison  at  Bedford,  and  was 
but  half  conscious  of  the  gifts  which  he  possessed.  It 
was  written  for  his  own  entertainment,  and  therefore  with- 
out the  thought — so  fatal  in  its  effects  and  so  hard  to  be 
resisted — of  what  the  world  would  say  about  it.  It  was 
written  in  compulsory  quiet,  when  he  was  comparatively 
unexcited  by  the  effort  of  perpetual  preaching,  and  the 
shapes  of  things  could  present  themselves  to  him  as  they 
really  were,  undistorted  by  theological  narrowness.  It  is 
the  same  story  which  he  has  told  of  himself  in  Grace 
Abounding,  thrown  out  into  an  objective  form. 

He  tells  us  himself,  in  a  metrical  introduction,  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  it  was  composed : — 

"  When  at  the  first  I  took  my  pen  in  hand, 
Thus  for  to  write,  I  did  not  understand 
That  I  at  all  should  make  a  little  book 
In  such  a  mode.     Nay,  I  had  undertook 
To  make  another,  which  when  alm9St  done, 
Before  I  was  aware  I  this  begun. 

"  And  thus  it  was :  I  writing  of  the  way 
And  race  of  saints  in  this  our  Gospel  day, 
Fell  suddenly  into  an  Allegory 
About  the  journey  and  the  way  to  glory 
In  more  than  twenty  things  which  I  set  down ; 
This  done,  I  twenty  more  had  in  my  crown. 
And  these  again  began  to  multiply, 
Like  sparks  that  from  the  coals  of  fire  do  fly. 
Nay  then,  thought  I,  if  that  you  breed  so  fast, 
I'll  put  you  by  yourselves,  lest  you  at  last 
Should  prove  ad  Infinitum,  and  eat  out 
The  book  that  I  already  am  about. 

"  Well,  so  I  did ;  but  yet  I  did  not  think 
To  show  to  all  the  work!  my  pen  and  ink 


102  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

In  such  a  mode.    I  only  thought  to  make, 
I  knew  not  what.    Nor  did  I  undertake 
Merely  to  please  my  neighbours ;  no,  not  I. 
I  did  it  mine  own  self  to  gratify. 

"  Neither  did  I  but  vacant  seasons  spend 
In  this  my  scribble ;  nor  did  I  intend 
But  to  divert  myself  in  doing  this 
From  worser  thoughts  which  make  me  do  amiss. 
Thus  I  set  pen  to  paper  with  delight, 
And  quickly  had  my  thoughts  in  black  and  white ; 
For  having  now  my  method  by  the  end. 
Still  as  I  pulled  it  came  ;  and  so  I  penned 
It  down :  until  at  last  it  came  to  be 
For  length  and  breadth  the  bigness  which  you  see. 

*'Well,  when  I  had  thus  put  my  ends  together, 
I  showed  them  others,  that  I  might  see  whether 
They  would  condemn  them  or  them  justify. 
And  some  said.  Let  them  Uve ;  some,  Let  them  die ; 
Some  said,  John,  prmt  it ;  others  said.  Not  so ; 
Some  said  it  might  do  good ;  others  said,  Na 

"  Now  was  I  in  a  strait,  and  did  not  see 
Which  was  the  best  thing  to  be  done  by  me. 
At  last  I  thought,  since  you  are  thus  divided, 
I  print  it  will ;  and  so  the  case  decided." 

The  difference  of  opinion  among  Banyan's  friends  is 
easily  explicable.  The  allegoric  representation  of  religion 
to  men  profoundly  convinced  of  the  truth  of  it  might 
naturally  seem  light  and  fantastic,  and  the  breadth  of  the 
conception  could  not  please  the  narrow  sectarians  who 
knew  no  salvation  beyond  the  lines  of  their  peculiar 
formulas.  The  Pilgrim,  though  in  a  Puritan  dress,  is  a 
genuine  man.  His  experience  is  so  truly  human  experi- 
ence, that  Christians  of  every  persuasion  can  identify 
themselves  with  him ;  and  even  those  who  regard  Chria- 


IX.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  168 

tianity  itself  as  but  a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  conscience 
and  intellect,  and  yet  desire  to  live  nobly  and  make  the 
best  of  themselves,  can  recognise  familiar  footprints  in 
every  step  of  Christian's  journey.  Thus  The  PilgrirrCs 
Progress  is  a  book  which,  when  once  read,  can  never  be 
forgotten.  We  too,  every  one  of  us,  are  pilgrims  on  the 
same  road,  and  images  and  illustrations  come  back  upon 
us  from  so  faithful  an  itinerary,  as  we  encounter  similar 
trials,  and  learn  for  ourselves  the  accuracy  with  which 
Bunyan  has  described  them.  There  is  no  occasion  to 
follow  a  story  minutely  which  memory  can  so  universally 
supply.  I  need  pause  only  at  a  few  spots  which  are  too 
charming  to  pass  by. 

How  picturesque  and  vivid  are  the  opening  lines : 
"As  I  walked  through  the  wilderness  of  this  world  I 
lighted  on  a  certain  place  where  there  was  a  den,'  and 
I  laid  me  down  in  that  place  to  sleep,  and  as  I  slept  I 
dreamed  a  dream.  I  dreamed,  and  behold  I  saw  a  man, 
a  man  clothed  in  rags,  standing  with  his  face  from  his 
own  home  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  a  great  burden 
upon  his  back." 

The  man  is  Bunyan  himself  as  we  see  him  in  Grace 
Abounding.  His  sins  are  the  burden  upon  his  back.  He 
reads  his  book  and  weeps  and  trembles.  He  speaks  of 
his  fears  to  his  friends  and  kindred.  They  think  "  some 
frenzy  distemper  has  got  into  his  head."  He  meets  a  man 
in  the  fields  whose  name  is  Evangelist.  Evangelist  tells 
him  to  flee  from  the  City  of  Destruction.  He  shows  him 
the  way  by  which  he  must  go,  and  points  to  the  far-off 
light  which  will  guide  him  to  the  wicket-gate.  He  sets 
off,  and  his  neighbours  of  course  think  him  mad.  The 
world  always  thinks  men  mad  who  turn  their  backs  upon 
>  The  Bedford  Prison. 


164  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

it.  Obstinate  and  Pliable  (how  well  we  know  them 
both !)  follow  to  persuade  him  to  return.  Obstinate  talks 
practical  common  sense  to  him,  and,  as  it  has  no  effect, 
gives  him  up  as  a  fantastical  fellow.  Pliable  thinks  that 
there  may  be  something  in  what  he  says,  and  offers  to  go 
with  him. 

Before  they  can  reach  the  wicket -gate  they  fall  into 
a  "  miry  slough."  Who  does  not  know  the  miry  slough 
too  ?  When  a  man  begins  for  the  first  time  to  think  se- 
riously about  himself,  the  first  thing  that  rises  before  him 
is  a  consciousness  of  his  miserable  past  life.  Amendment 
seems  to  be  desperate.  He  thinks  it  is  too  late  to  change 
for  any  useful  purpose,  and  he  sinks  into  despondency. 

Pliable,  finding  the  road  disagreeable,  has  soon  had 
enough  of  it.  He  scrambles  out  of  the  slough  "  on  the 
side  which  was  nearest  to  his  own  house  "  and  goes  home. 
Christian,  struggling  manfully,  is  lifted  out  "  by  a  man 
whose  name  was  Help,"  and  goes  on  upon  his  journey, 
but  the  burden  on  his  back  weighs  him  down.  He  falls 
in  with  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman,  who  lives  in  the  town  of 
Carnal  Policy.  Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman,  who  looks  like  a 
gentleman,  advises  him  not  to  think  about  his  sins.  U 
he  has  done  wrong  he  must  alter  his  life  and  do  better 
for  the  future.  He  directs  him  to  a  village  called  Mo- 
rality, where  he  wUl  find  a  gentleman  well  known  in  those 
parts,  who  will  take  his  burden  off — Mr.  Legality.  Either 
Mr.  Legality  will  do  it  himself,  or  it  can  be  done  equally 
well  by  his  pretty  young  son,  Mr.  Civility. 

The  way  to  a  better  life  does  not  lie  in  a  change  of  out- 
ward action,  but  in  a  changed  heart.  Legality  soon  passes 
into  civility,  according  to  the  saying  that  vice  loses  half 
its  evil  when  it  loses  its  grossness.  Bunyan  would  have 
said  that  the  poison  was  the  more  deadly  from  being  con- 


rr.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  186 

cealed.  Christian,  after  a  near  escape,  is  set  straight  again. 
He  is  admitted  into  the  wicket-gate,  and  is  directed  how 
he  is  to  go  forward.  He  asks  if  he  may  not  lose  his  way. 
He  is  answered  Yes,  "  There  are  many  ways  (that)  butt 
down  on  this,  and  they  are  crooked  and  wide.  But  thus 
thou  mayest  know  the  right  from  the  wrong,  that  only 
being  straight  and  narrow." 

Good  people  often  suppose  that  when  a  man  is  once 
"  converted,"  as  they  call  it,  and  has  entered  on  a  religious 
life,  he  will  find  everything  made  easy.  He  has  turned  to 
Christ,  and  in  Christ  he  will  find  rest  and  pleasantness. 
The  path  of  duty  is  unfortunately  not  strewed  with  flow- 
ers at  all.  The  primrose  road  leads  to  the  other  place. 
As  on  all  other  journeys,  to  persevere  is  the  difficulty. 
The  pilgrim's  feet  grow  sorer  the  longer  he  walks.  His 
lower  nature  follows  him  like  a  shadow,  watching  oppor- 
tunities to  trip  him  up,  and  ever  appearing  in  some  new 
disguise.  In  the  way  of  comfort  he  is  allowed  only  cer- 
tain resting-places,  quiet  intervals  of  peace  when  temp- 
tation is  absent,  and  the  mind  can  gather  strength  and 
encouragement  from  a  sense  of  the  progress  which  it  has 
made. 

The  first  of  these  resting-places  at  which  Christian  ar- 
rives is  the  "  Interpreter's  House."  This  means,  I  con- 
ceive, that  he  arrives  at  a  right  understanding  of  the  ob- 
jects of  human  desire  as  they  really  are.  He  learns  to  dis- 
tinguish there  between  passion  and  patience,  passion  which 
demands  immediate  gratification,  and  patience  which  can 
wait  and  hope.  He  sees  the  action  of  grace  on  the  heart, 
and  sees  the  devil  labouring  to  put  it  out.  He  sees  the 
man  in  the  iron  cage  who  was  once  a  flourishing  professor, 
but  had  been  tempted  away  by  pleasure  and  had  sinned 
against  light.     He  hears  a  dream  too— one  of  Bunyan's 

L-/ 


106  BUNYAN.  [char 

own  early  dreams,  but  related  as  by  another  person.  The 
Pilgrim  himself  was  beyond  the  reach  of  such  uneasy 
visions.  But  it  shows  how  profoundly  the  terrible  side 
of  Christianity  had  seized  on  Bunyan's  imagination,  and 
how  little  he  was  able  to  forget  it. 

"  This  night  as  I  was  in  my  sleep  I  dreamed,  and  behold 
the  heavens  grew  exceeding  black ;  also  it  thundered  and 
lightened  in  most  fearful  wise,  that  it  put  me  into  an 
agony ;  so  I  looked  up  in  my  dream  and  saw  the  clouds 
rack  at  an  unusual  rate,  upon  which  I  heard  a  great  sound 
of  a  trumpet,  and  saw  also  a  man  sit  upon  a  cloud  attended 
with  the  thousands  of  heaven.  They  were  all  in  a  flaming 
fire,  and  the  heaven  also  was  in  a  burning  flame,  I  heard 
then  a  voice,  saying.  Arise  ye  dead  and  come  to  judgment ; 
and  with  that  the  rocks  rent,  the  graves  opened,  and  the 
dead  that  were  therein  came  forth.  Some  of  them  were 
exceeding  glad  and  looked  upward ;  some  sought  to  hide 
themselves  under  the  mountains.  Then  I  saw  the  man 
that  sate  upon  the  cloud  open  the  book  and  bid  the  world 
draw  near.  Yet  there  was,  by  reason  of  a  fierce  flame 
that  issued  out  and  came  from  before  him,  a  convenient 
distance  betwixt  him  and  them,  as  betwixt  the  judge  and 
the  prisoners  at  the  bar.  I  heard  it  also  proclaimed  to 
them  that  attended  on  the  man  that  sate  on  the  cloud. 
Gather  together  the  tares,  the  chaff,  and  the  stubble,  and 
cast  them  into  the  burning  lake.  And  with  that  the  bot- 
tomless pit  opened  just  whereabouts  I  stood,  out  of  the 
mouth  of  which  there  came  in  an  abundant  manner  smoke 
and  coals  of  fire  with  hideous  noises.  It  was  also  said  to 
the  same  persons.  Gather  the  wheat  into  my  garner.  And 
with  that  I  saw  many  catched  up  and  carried  away  into 
the  clouds,  but  I  was  left  behind.  I  also  sought  to  hide 
myself,  but  I  could  not,  for  the  man  that  sate  upon  the 


tt.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  167 

cloud  still  kept  his  eye  upon  me.  My  sins  also  came  into 
my  mind,  and  my  conscience  did  accuse  me  on  every  side. 
I  thought  the  day  of  judgment  was  come,  and  I  was  not 
ready  for  it." 

The  resting-time  comes  to  an  end.  The  Pilgrim  gath- 
ers himself  together,  and  proceeds  upon  his  way.  He  is 
not  to  be  burdened  for  ever  with  the  sense  of  his  sins.  It 
fell  from  off  his  bact  at  the  sight  of  the  cross.  Three 
shining  ones  appear  and  tell  him  that  his  sins  are  for- 
given ;  they  take  off  his  rags  and  provide  him  with  a  new 
suit. 

He  now  encounters  fellow-travellers;  and  the  serious- 
ness of  the  story  is  relieved  by  adventures  and  humorous 
conversations.  At  the  bottom  of  a  hill  he  finds  three 
gentlemen  asleep,  *'  a  little  out  of  the  way."  These  were 
Simple,  Sloth,  and  Presumption.  He  tries  to  rouse  them, 
but  does  not  succeed.  Presently  two  others  are  seen  tum- 
bling over  the  wall  into  the  Narrow  Way.  They  are  come 
from  the  land  of  Vain  Glory,  and  are  called  Formalist  and 
Hypocrisy.  Like  the  Pilgrim,  they  are  bound  for  Mount 
Zion ;  but  the  wicket-gate  was  *'  too  far  about,"  and  they 
had  come  by  a  short  cut.  "  They  had  custom  for  it  a 
thousand  years  and  more;  and  custom  being  of  so  long 
standing,  would  be  admitted  legal  by  any  impartial  judge." 
Whether  right  or  wrong,  they  insist  that  they  are  in  the 
way,  and  no  more  is  to  be  said.  But  they  are  soon  out 
of  it  again.  The  hill  is  the  hill  DiflSculty,  and  the  road 
parts  into  three.  Two  go  round  the  bottom,  as  modern 
engineers  would  make  them.  The  other  rises  straight  over 
the  top.  Formalist  and  Hypocrisy  choose  the  easy  ways, 
and  are  heard  of  no  more.  Pilgrim  climbs  up,  and  after 
various  accidents  comes  to  the  second  resting-place,  the 
Palace  Beautiful,  built  by  the  Lord  of  the  Hill  to  entertain 


168  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

strangers  in.  The  recollections  of  Sir  Bevis,  of  Southamp- 
ton, furnished  Bunyan  with  his  framework.  Lions  guard 
the  court.  Fair  ladies  entertain  him  as  if  he  had  been  a 
knight-errant  in  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail.  The  ladies,  of 
course,  are  all  that  they  ought  to  be :  the  Christian  graces 
— Discretion,  Prudence,  Piety,  and  Charity.  He  tells  them 
his  history.  They  ask  him  if  he  has  brought  none  of  his 
old  belongings  with  him.  He  answers  Yes,  but  greatly 
against  his  will :  his  inward  and  carnal  cogitations,  with 
which  his  countrymen,  as  well  as  himself,  were  so  much 
delighted.  Only  in  golden  hours  they  seemed  to  leave 
him.  Who  cannot  recognise  the  truth  of  this?  Who  has 
not  groaned  over  the  follies  and  idiotcies  that  cling  to  us 
like  the  doggerel  verses  that  hang  about  our  memories? 
The  room  in  which  he  sleeps  is  called  Peace.  In  the 
morning  he  is  shown  the  curiosities,  chiefly  Scripture  rel- 
ics, in  the  palace.  He  is  taken  to  the  roof,  from  which 
he  sees  far  off  the  outlines  of  the  Delectable  Mountains. 
Next,  the  ladies  carry  him  to  the  armoury,  and  equip  him 
for  the  dangers  which  lie  next  before  him.  He  is  to  go 
down  into  the  Valley  of  Humiliation,  and  pass  thence 
through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death. 

Banyan  here  shows  the  finest  insight.  To  some  pil- 
grims the  Valley  of  Humiliation  was  the  pleasantest  part 
of  the  journey.  Mr.  Feeblemind,  in  the  second  part  of 
the  story,  was  happier  there  than  anywhere.  But  Chris- 
tian is  Bunyan  himself ;  and  Bunyan  had  a  stiff,  self-willed 
nature,  and  had  found  his  spirit  the  most  stubborn  part  of 
him.  Down  here  he  encounters  ApoUyon  himself, "  strad- 
dling quite  over  the  whole  breadth  of  the  way  " — a  more 
effective  devil  than  the  Diabolus  of  The  Holy  War.  He 
fights  him  for  half  a  day,  is  sorely  wounded  in  head,  hand, 
and  foot,  and  has  a  near  escape  of  being  pressed  to  death. 


n.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  159 

Apollyon  spreads  his  bat  wings  at  last,  and  flies  away ;  but 
there  remains  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  the  dark 
scene  of  lonely  horrors.  Two  men  meet  him  on  the  bor- 
ders of  it.  They  tell  him  the  valley  is  full  of  spectres; 
and  they  warn  him,  if  he  values  his  life,  to  go  back.  Well 
Bunyan  knew  these  spectres,  those  dreary  misgivings  that 
he  was  toiling  after  an  illusion ;  that  *'  good  "  and  "  evil " 
had  no  meaning  except  on  earth,  and  for  man's  convenience ; 
and  that  he  himself  was  but  a  creature  of  a  day,  allowed 
a  brief  season  of  what  is  called  existence,  and  then  to  pass 
away  and  be  as  if  he  had  never  been.  It  speaks  well  for 
Bunyan's  honesty  that  this  state  of  mind,  which  religious 
people  generally  call  wicked,  is  placed  directly  in  his  Pil- 
grim's path,  and  he  is  compelled  to  pass  through  it.  In 
the  valley,  close  at  the  road-side,  there  is  a  pit,  which  is 
one  of  the  mouths  of  hell.  A  wicked  spirit  whispers  to 
him  as  he  goes  by.  He  imagines  that  the  thought  had 
proceeded  out  of  his  own  heart. 

The  sky  clears  when  he  is  beyond  the  gorge.  Outside 
it  are  the  caves  where  the  two  giants,  Pope  and  Pagan, 
had  lived  in  old  times.  Pagan  had  been  dead  many  a  day. 
Pope  was  still  living,  "but  he  had  grown  so  crazy  and 
stiff  in  his  joints  that  he  could  now  do  little  more  than  sit 
in  his  cave's  mouth,  grinning  at  pilgrims  as  they  went  by, 
and  biting  his  nails  because  he  could  not  come  at  them." 

Here  he  overtakes  Faithful,  a  true  pilgrim  like  himself. 
Faithful  had  met  with  trials;  but  his  trials  have  not  re- 
sembled Christian's.  Christian's  diflBculties,  like  Bunyan's 
own,  had  been  all  spiritual.  "  The  lusts  of  the  flesh  "  seem 
to  have  had  no  attraction  for  him.  Faithful  had  been  as- 
sailed by  Wanton,  and  had  been  obliged  to  fly  from  her. 
He  had  not  fallen  into  the  slough ;  but  he  had  been  be- 
guiled by  the  Old  Adam,  who  offered  him  one  of  his  daugh- 


160  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

tcrs  for  a  wife.  In  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death  he 
had  found  sunshine  all  the  way.  Doubts  about  the  truth 
of  religion  had  never  troubled  the  simpler  nature  of  the 
good  Faithful. 

Mr.  Talkative  is  the  next  character  introduced,  and  is 
one  of  the  best  figures  which  Bunyan  has  drawn ;  Mr. 
Talkative,  with  Scripture  at  his  fingers'  ends,  and  perfect 
master  of  all  doctrinal  subtleties,  ready  '*  to  talk  of  things 
heavenly  or  things  earthly,  things  moral  or  things  evan- 
gelical, things  sacred  or  things  profane,  things  past  or 
things  to  come,  things  foreign  or  things  at  home,  things 
essential  or  things  circumstantial,  provided  that  all  be  done 
to  our  profit." 

This  gentleman  would  have  taken  in  Faithful,  who  was 
awed  by  such  a  rush  of  volubility.  Christian  has  seen 
him  before,  knows  him  well,  and  can  describe  him.  "  He 
is  the  son  of  one  Saywell.  He  dwelt  in  Prating  Row. 
He  is  for  any  company  and  for  any  talk.  As  he  talks 
now  with  you,  so  will  he  talk  when  on  the  ale-bench.  The 
more  drink  he  hath  in  his  crown,  the  more  of  these  things 
he  hath  in  his  mouth.  Religion  hath  no  place  in  his 
heart,  or  home,  or  conversation ;  all  that  he  hath  lieth  in 
his  tongue,  and  his  religion  is  to  m?^e  a  noise  therewith." 

The  elect,  though  they  have  ceased  to  be  of  the  world, 
are  still  in  the  world.  They  are  still  part  of  the  general 
community  of  mankind,  and  share,  whether  they  like  it  or 
not,  in  the  ordinary  activities  of  life.  Faithful  and  Chris- 
tian have  left  the  City  of  Destruction.  They  have  shaken 
off  from  themselves  all  liking  for  idle  pleasures.  They 
nevertheless  find  themselves  in  their  journey  at  Vanity 
Fair, "  a  fair  set  up  by  Beelzebub  6000  years  ago."  Trade 
of  all  sorts  went  on  at  Vanity  Fair,  and  people  of  all  sorts 
were   collected  there:    cheats,  fools,  asses,  knaves,  and 


IX.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  161 

rogues.  Some  were  honest,  many  were  dishonest;  some 
lived  peaceably  and  uprightly,  others  robbed,  murdered, 
seduced  their  neighbours'  wives,  or  lied  and  perjured  them- 
selves. Vanity  Fair  was  European  society  as  it  existed  in 
the  days  of  Charles  II.  Each  nation  was  represented. 
There  was  British  Row,  French  Row,  and  Spanish  Row. 
"The  wares  of  Rome  and  her  merchandise  were  greatly 
promoted  at  the  fair,  only  the  English  nation,  with  some 
others,  had  taken  a  dislike  to  them."  The  pilgrims  appear 
on  the  scene  as  the  Apostles  appeared  at  Antioch  and 
Rome,  to  tell  the  people  that  there  were  things  in  the 
world  of  more  consequence  than  money  and  pleasure. 
The  better  sort  listen.  Public  opinion  in  general  calls 
them  fools  and  Bedlamites.  The  fair  becomes  excited, 
disturbances  are  feared,  and  the  authorities  send  to  make 
inquiries.  Authorities  naturally  disapprove  of  novelties; 
and  Christian  and  Faithful  are  arrested,  beaten,  and  put 
in  the  cage.  Their  friends  insist  that  they  have  done  no 
harm,  that  they  are  innocent  strangers  teaching  only  what 
will  make  men  better  instead  of  worse.  A  riot  follows. 
The  authorities  determine  to  make  an  example  of  them, 
and  the  result  is  the  ever-memorable  trial  of  the  two  pil- 
grims. They  are  brought  in  irons  before  my  Lord  Hate- 
good,  charged  with  "  disturbing  the  trade  of  the  town, 
creating  divisions,  and  making  converts  to  their  opinions 
in  contempt  of  the  law  of  the  Prince." 

Faithful  begins  with  an  admission  which  would  have 
made  it  diflBcult  for  Hategood  to  let  him  off,  for  he  says 
that  the  Prince  they  talked  of,  being  Beelzebub,  the  enemy 
of  the  Lord,  he  defied  him  and  all  his  angels.  Three  wit- 
nesses were  then  called:  Envy,  Superstition,  and  Pick- 
thank. 

Envy  says  that  Faithful  regards  neither  prince  nor  pec 


162  BUNYAN.  [chaf 

pie,  but  does  all  he  can  to  possess  men  with  disloyal  no* 
tions,  which  he  calls  principles  of  faith  and  holiness. 

Superstition  says  that  he  knows  little  of  him,  but  has 
heard  him  say  that  "  our  religion  is  naught,  and  such  by 
which  no  man  can  please  God,  from  which  saying  his 
Lordship  well  knows  will  follow  that  we  are  yet  in  our 
sins,  and  finally  shall  be  damned." 

Pickthank  deposes  that  he  has  heard  Faithful  rail  on 
Beelzebub,  and  speak  contemptuously  of  his  honourable 
friends  my  Lord  Old  Man,  my  Lord  Carnal  Delight,  my 
Lord  Luxurious,  my  Lord  Desire  of  Vain  Glory,  my  Lord 
Lechery,  Sir  Having  Greedy,  and  the  rest  of  the  nobility, 
besides  which  he  has  railed  against  his  lordship  on  the 
bench  himself,  calling  him  an  ungodly  villain. 

The  evidence  was  perfectly  true,  and  the  prisoner,  when 
called  on  for  his  defence,  confirmed  it.  He  says  (avoiding 
the  terms  in  which  he  was  said  to  rail,  and  the  like)  that 
"the  Prince  of  the  town,  with  all  the  rabblement  of  his 
attendants  by  this  gentleman  named,  are  more  fit  for  a  be- 
ing in  hell  than  in  this  town  or  country." 

Lord  Hategood  has  been  supposed  to  have  been  drawn 
from  one  or  other  of  Charles  II.'s  judges,  perhaps  from 
either  Twisden  or  Chester,  who  had  the  conversation  with 
Bunyan's  wife.  But  it  is  diflBcult  to  see  how  either  one 
or  the  other  could  have  acted  otherwise  than  they  did. 
Faithful  might  be  quite  right.  Hell  might  be,  and  proba- 
bly  was,  the  proper  place  for  Beelzebub,  and  for  all  persona 
holding  authority  under  him.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  a 
form  of  society  did  for  some  purpose  or  other  exist,  and 
had  been  permitted  to  exist  for  6000  years,  owning  Beel- 
zebub's sovereignty.  It  must  defend  itself,  or  must  cease 
to  be,  and  it  could  not  be  expected  to  make  no  effort  at 
self-preservation.     Faithful  had  come  to  Vanity  Fair  to 


nc.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  .168 

make  a  revolution — a  revolution  extremely  desirable,  but 
one  which  it  was  unreasonable  to  expect  the  constituted 
authorities  to  allow  to  go  forward.  It  was  not  a  case  of 
false  witness.  A  prisoner  who  admits  that  he  has  taught 
the  people  that  their  Prince  ought  to  be  in  hell,  and  has 
called  the  judge  an  ungodly  villain,  cannot  complain  if  he 
is  accused  of  preaching  rebellion. 

Lord  Hategood  charges  the  jury,  and  explains  the  law. 
"  There  was  an  Act  made,"  he  says, "  in  the  days  of  Pha- 
raoh the  Great,  servant  to  our  Prince,  that  lest  those  of  a 
contrary  religion  should  multiply  and  grow  too  strong  for 
him,  their  males  should  be  thrown  into  the  river.  There 
was  also  an  Act  made  in  the  days  of  Nebuchadnezzar  the 
Great,  that  whoever  would  not  fall  down  and  worship  his 
golden  image  should  be  thrown  into  a  fiery  furnace. 
There  was  also  an  Act  made  in  the  days  of  Darius  that 
whoso  for  some  time  called  upon  any  God  but  him  should 
be  cast  into  the  lion's  den.  Now  the  substance  of  these 
laws  this  rebel  hath  broken,  not  only  in  thought  (which 
is  not  to  be  borne),  but  also  in  word  and  deed,  which 
must,  therefore,  be  intolerable.  For  that  of  Pharaoh,  his 
law  was  made  upon  a  supposition  to  prevent  mischief, 
no  crime  being  yet  apparent.  For  the  second  and  third 
you  see  his  disputations  against  our  religion,  and  for 
the  treason  he  hath  confessed  he  deserveth  to  die  the 
death." 

"  Then  went  the  jury  out,  whose  names  were  Mr.  Blind- 
man,  Mr.  Nogood,  Mr.  Malice,  Mr.  Lovelust,  Mr.  Liveloosc, 
Mr.  Heady,  Mr.  Highmind,  Mr.  Enmity,  Mr.  Liar,  Mr.  Cru- 
elty, Mr.  Hatelight,  and  Mr.  Implacable,  who  every  one 
gave  in  his  private  verdict  against  him  among  themselves, 
and  afterwards  unanimously  concluded  to  bring  him  in 
guilty  before  the  judge.  And  first,  Mr.  Blindman,  the 
8 


1«4  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

foreman,  said :  I  see  clearly  that  this  man  is  a  heretic. 
Then  said  Mr.  Nogood,  Away  with  such  a  fellow  from 
the  earth.  Aye,  said  Mr.  Malice,  I  hate  the  very  looks  of 
him.  Then  said  Mr.  Lovelust,  I  could  never  endure  him. 
Nor  I,  said  Mr.  Liveloose,  for  he  would  always  be  con- 
demning my  way.  Hang  him,  hang  him,  said  Mr.  Heady. 
A  sorry  scrub,  said  Mr.  Highmind.  My  heart  riseth 
against  him,  said  Mr.  Enmity.  He  is  a  rogue,  said  Mr. 
Liar.  Hanging  is  too  good  for  him,  said  Mr.  Cruelty. 
Let  us  despatch  him  out  of  the  way,  said  Mr.  Hatelight. 
Then,  said  Mr.  Implacable,  might  I  have  all  the  world 
given  me,  I  could  not  be  reconciled  to  him ;  therefore,  let 
us  forthwith  bring  him  in  guilty  of  death." 

Abstract  qualities  of  character  were  never  clothed  in 
more  substantial  flesh  and  blood  than  these  jurymen. 
Spenser's  knights  in  the  Fairy  Queen  are  mere  shadows 
to  them.  Faithful  was,  of  course,  condemned,  scourged, 
buffeted,  lanced  in  his  feet  with  knives,  stoned,  stabbed, 
at  last  burned,  and  spared  the  pain  of  travelling  further 
on  the  narrow  road.  A  chariot  and  horses  were  waiting 
to  bear  him  through  the  clouds,  the  nearest  way  to  the 
Celestial  Gate.  Christian,  who  it  seems  had  been  re- 
manded, contrives  to  escape.  He  is  joined  by  Hopeful,  a 
convert  whom  he  has  made  in  the  town,  and  they  pursue 
their  journey  in  company.  A  second  person  is  useful 
dramatically,  and  Hopeful  takes  Faithful's  place.  Leaving 
Vanity  Fair,  they  are  again  on  the  Pilgrim's  road.  There 
they  encounter  Mr.  Bye-ends.  Bye-ends  comes  from  the 
town  of  Plain-Speech,  where  he  has  a  large  kindred,  My 
Lord  Turnabout,  my  Lord  Timeserver,  Mr.  Facing -both- 
ways,  Mr.  Two  Tongues,  the  parson  of  the  parish.  Bye- 
ends  himself  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  Lady  Feign- 
ings.    Bunyan's  invention  in  such  things  was  inexhaustible. 


IX.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  168 

They  have  more  trials  of  the  old  kind  with  which  Bun- 
yan  himself  was  so  familiar.  They  cross  the  River  of 
Life  and  even  drink  at  it,  yet  for  all  this,  and  directly 
after,  they  stray  into  Bye -path  Meadow.  They  lose 
themselves  in  the  grounds  of  Doubting  Castle,  and  are 
seized  upon  by  Giant  Despair — still  a  prey  to  doubt — still 
uncertain  whether  religion  be  not  a  dream,  even  after  they 
have  fought  with  wild  beasts  in  Vanity  Fair  and  have 
drunk  of  the  water  of  life.  Nowhere  does  Bunyan  show 
better  how  well  he  knew  the  heart  of  man.  Christian 
even  thinks  of  killing  himself  in  the  dungeons  of  Doubt- 
ing Castle.  Hopeful  cheers  him  up;  they  break  their 
prison,  recover  the  road  again,  and  arrive  at  the  Delectable 
Mountains  in  Emmanuel's  own  land.  There  it  might  be 
thought  the  danger  would  be  over,  but  it  is  not  so.  Even 
in  Emmanuel's  Land  there  is  a  door  in  the  side  of  a  hill 
which  is  a  byeway  to  hell,  and  beyond  Emmanuel's  Land 
is  the  country  of  conceit,  a  new  and  special  temptation 
for  those  who  think  that  they  are  near  salvation.  Here 
they  encounter  "  a  brisk  lad  of  the  neighbourhood,"  need- 
ed soon  after  for  a  particular  purpose,  who  is  a  good  liver, 
prays  devoutly,  fasts  regularly,  pays  tithes  punctually,  and 
hopes  that  everyone  will  get  to  heaven  by  the  religion 
which  he  professes,  provided  he  fears  God  and  tries  to 
do  his  duty.  The  name  of  this  brisk  lad  is  Ignorance. 
Leaving  him,  they  are  caught  in  a  net  by  Flatterer,  and 
are  smartly  whipped  by  "  a  shining  one,"  who  lets  them 
out  of  it.  False  ideas  and  vanity  lay  them  open  once 
more  to  their  most  dangerous  enemy.  They  meet  a  man 
coming  toward  them  from  the  direction  in  which  they  are 
going.  They  tell  him  that  they  are  on  the  way  to  Mount 
Zion.     He  laughs  scornfully,  and  answers : — 

"There  is  no  such  place  as  you  dream  of  in  all  the 


166  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

world.  When  I  was  at  home  in  my  own  country,  I  heard 
as  you  now  aflBrm,  and  from  hearing  I  went  out  to  see ; 
and  have  been  seeking  this  city  these  twenty  years,  but  I 
find  no  more  of  it  than  I  did  the  first  day  I  went  out.  I 
am  going  back  again,  and  will  seek  to  refresh  myself  with 
things  which  I  then  cast  away  for  hopes  of  that  which  I 
now  see  is  not." 

Still  uncertainty  —  even  on  the  verge  of  eternity  — 
strange,  doubtless,  and  reprehensible  to  Right  Reverend 
persons,  who  never  "  cast  away "  anything ;  to  whom  a 
religious  profession  has  been  a  highway  to  pleasure  and 
preferment,  who  live  in  the  comfortable  assurance  that  as 
it  has  been  in  this  life  so  it  will  be  in  the  next.  Only 
moral  obliquity  of  the  worst  kind  could  admit  a  doubt 
about  so  excellent  a  religion  as  this.  But  Bunyan  was 
not  a  Right  Reverend.  Christianity  had  brought  him  no 
palaces  and  large  revenues,  and  a  place  among  the  great 
of  the  land.  If  Christianity  was  not  true,  his  whole  life 
was  folly  and  illusion,  and  the  dread  that  it  might  be  so 
clung  to  his  belief  like  its  shadow. 

The  way  was  still  long.  The  pilgrims  reach  the  En- 
chanted Ground,  and  are  drowsy  and  tired.  Ignorance 
comes  up  with  them  again.  He  talks  much  about  himself. 
He  tells  them  of  the  good  motives  that  come  into  his 
mind  and  comfort  him  as  he  walks.  His  heart  tells  him 
that  he  has  left  all  for  God  and  heaven.  His  belief  and 
his  life  agree  together,  and  he  is  humbly  confident  that  his 
hopes  are  well-founded.  When  they  speak  to  him  of 
Salvation  by  Faith  and  Conviction  by  Sin,  he  cannot  un- 
derstand what  they  mean.  As  he  leaves  them  they  are 
reminded  of  one  Temporary,  "  once  a  forward  man  in  re- 
ligion." Temporary  dwelt  in  Graceless,  "a  town  two 
miles  from  Honesty,  next  door  to  one  Turnback."    He 


IX.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  167 

"  was  going  on  pilgrimage,  but  became  acquainted  with 
one  Save  Self,  and  was  never  more  heard  of." 

These  figures  all  mean  something.  They  correspond  in 
part  to  Banyan's  own  recollection  of  his  own  trials.  Part- 
ly he  is  indulging  his  humour  by  describing  others  who 
were  more  astray  than  he  was.  It  was  over  at  last:  the 
pilgrims  arrive  at  the  land  of  Beulah,  the  beautiful  sunset 
after  the  storms  were  all  past.  Doubting  Castle  can  be 
seen  no  more,  and  between  them  and  their  last  rest  there 
remains  only  the  deep  river  over  which  there  is  no  bridge, 
the  river  of  Death.  On  the  hill  beyond  the  waters  glitter 
the  towers  and  domes  of  the  Celestial  City ;  but  through 
the  river  they  must  first  pass,  and  they  find  it  deeper  or 
shallower  according  to  the  strength  of  their  faith.  They 
go  through,  Hopeful  feeling  the  bottom  all  along ;  Chris- 
tian still  in  character,  not  without  some  horror,  and  fright^ 
ened  by  hobgoblins.  On  the  other  side  they  are  received 
by  angels,  and  are  carried  to  their  final  home,  to  live  for 
ever  in  the  Prince's  presence.  Then  follows  the  only  pas- 
sage which  the  present  writer  reads  with  regret  in  this  ad- 
mirable book.  It  is  given  to  the  self-righteous  Ignorance, 
who,  doubtless,  had  been  provoking  with  "  his  good  mo- 
tives that  comforted  him  as  he  walked ;"  but  Bunyan's 
zeal  might  have  been  satisfied  by  inflicting  a  lighter  chas- 
tisement upon  him.  He  comes  up  to  the  river :  he  crosses 
without  the  diflSculties  which  attended  Christian  and  Hope- 
ful. "  It  happened  that  there  was  then  at  the  place  one 
Vain  Hope,  a  Ferryman,  that  with  his  boat "  (some  viati- 
cum or  priestly  absolution)  "helped  him  over."  He  as- 
cends the  hill,  and  approaches  the  city,  but  no  angels  are 
in  attendance,  "  neither  did  any  man  meet  him  with  the 
least  encouragement."  Above  the  gate  there  was  the  verse 
written — "Blessed  are  they  that  do  Hia  commandments, 


168  BUNYAN.  [char 

that  they  may  have  right  to  the  Tree  of  Life,  and  may  en- 
ter in  through  the  gate  into  the  city."  Bunyan,  who  be- 
lieved that  no  man  could  keep  the  commandments,  and 
had  no  right  to  anything  but  damnation,  must  have  in- 
troduced the  words  as  if  to  mock  the  unhappy  wretch  who, 
after  all,  had  tried  to  keep  the  commandments  as  well  as 
most  people,  and  was  seeking  admittance,  with  a  con- 
science moderately  at  ease.  "  He  was  asked  by  the  men 
that  looked  over  the  gate — Whence  come  you,  and  what 
would  you  have?"  He  answered,  "  I  have  eaten  and  drunk 
in  the  presence  of  the  King,  and  he  has  taught  in  our 
street."  Then  they  asked  him  for  his  certificate,  that  they 
might  go  in  and  show  it  to  the  king.  So  he  fumbled  in 
his  bosom  for  one,  and  found  none.  Then  said  they, 
"  Have  you  none  ?"  But  the  man  answered  never  a  word. 
So  they  told  the  king ;  but  he  would  not  come  down  to  see 
him,  but  commanded  the  two  shining  ones  that  conducted 
Christian  and  Hopeful  to  the  city,  to  go  out  and  take  Ig- 
norance and  bind  him  hand  and  foot,  and  have  him  away. 
Then  they  took  him  up  and  carried  him  through  the  air 
to  the  door  in  the  side  of  the  hill,  and  put  him  in  there. 
"  Then,"  so  Bunyan  ends,  "  I  saw  that  there  was  a  way  to 
hell  even  from  the  gates  of  heaven,  as  well  as  from  the 
City  of  Destruction ;  so  I  awoke,  and  behold  it  was  a 
dream !" 

Poor  Ignorance !  Hell — such  a  place  as  Bunyan  imag- 
ined hell  to  be — was  a  hard  fate  for  a  miserable  mortal 
who  had  failed  to  comprehend  the  true  conditions  of  jus- 
tification. We  are  not  told  that  he  was  a  vain  boaster. 
He  could  not  have  advanced  so  near  to  the  door  of  heaven 
if  he  had  not  been  really  a  decent  man,  though  vain  and 
silly.  Behold,  it  was  a  dream  I  The  dreams  which  come 
to  us  when  sleep  is  deep  on  the  soul  may  be  sent  direct 


IX.]  "THE  PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS."  169 

from  some  revealing  power.  When  we  are  near  waking, 
the  supernatural  insight  may  be  refracted  through  human 
theory. 

Charity  will  hope  that  the  vision  of  Ignorance  cast 
bound  into  the  mouth  of  hell,  when  he  was  knocking  at 
the  gate  of  heaven,  came  through  Homer's  ivory  gate,  and 
that  Bunyan  here  was  a  mistaken  interpreter  of  the  spir- 
itual tradition.  The  fierce  inferences  of  Puritan  theology 
are  no  longer  credible  to  us;  yet  nobler  men  than  the 
Puritans  are  not  to  be  found  in  all  English  history.  It 
will  be  well  if  the  clearer  sight  which  enables  us  to  detect 
their  errors  enables  us  also  to  recognise  their  excellence. 

The  second  part  of  The  PilgrinrCs  Progress,  like  most 
second  parts,  is  but  a  feeble  reverberation  of  the  first.  It 
is  comforting,  no  doubt,  to  know  that  Christian's  wife  and 
children  were  not  left  to  their  fate  in  the  City  of  Destruc- 
tion. But  Bunyan  had  given  us  all  that  he  had  to  tell 
about  the  journey,  and  we  do  not  need  a  repetition  of  it. 
Of  course  there  are  touches  of  genius.  No  writing  of 
Bunyan's  could  be  wholly  without  it.  But  the  rough  sim- 
plicity is  gone,  and  instead  of  it  there  is  a  tone  of  senti- 
ment which  is  almost  mawkish.  Giants,  dragons,  and  an- 
gelic champions  carry  us  into  a  spurious  fairy-land,  where 
the  knight-errant  is  a  preacher  in  disguise.  Fair  ladies 
and  love  matches,  however  decorously  chastened,  suit  ill 
with  the  sternness  of  the  moral  conflict  between  the  soul 
and  sin.  Christiana  and  her  children  are  tolerated  for  the 
pilgrim's  sake  to  whom  they  belong.  Had  they  appealed 
to  our  interest  on  their  own  merits,  we  would  have  been 
contented  to  wish  them  well  through  their  diflBculties,  and 
to  trouble  ourselves  no  further  about  them. 


CHAPTER  X. 

LAST  DAYS  AND  DKATH. 

Little  remains  to  be  told  of  Bunyan's  concluding  years. 
No  friends  preserved  his  letters.  No  diaries  of  his  own 
survive  to  gratify  curiosity.  Men  truly  eminent  think 
too  meanly  of  themselves  or  their  work  to  care  much  to 
be  personally  remembered.  He  lived  for  sixteen  years 
after  his  release  from  the  gaol,  and  those  years  were  spent 
in  the  peaceful  discharge  of  his  congregational  duties,  in 
writing,  in  visiting  the  scattered  members  of  the  Baptist 
communion,  or  in  preaching  in  the  villages  and  woods. 
His  outward  circumstances  were  easy.  He  had  a  small 
but  well  -  provided  house  in  Bedford,  into  which  he  col- 
lected rare  and  valuable  pieces  of  old  furniture  and  plate, 
and  other  articles — presents,  probably,  from  those  who  ad- 
mired him.  He  visited  London  annually  to  preach  in  the 
Baptist  churches.  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  spread  his 
fame  over  England,  over  Europe,  and  over  the  American 
settlements.  It  was  translated  into  many  languages ;  and 
so  catholic  was  its  spirit,  that  it  was  adapted  with  a  few 
alterations  for  the  use  even  of  the  Catholics  themselves. 
He  abstained,  as  he  had  done  steadily  throughout  his  life, 
from  all  interference  with  politics,  and  the  Government  in 
turn  never  again  meddled  with  him.  He  even  received 
offers  of  promotion  to  larger  spheres  of  action,  which 


CHAP.  X.]  LAST  DAYS  AND  DEATH.  171 

might  have  tempted  a  meaner  nature.  But  he  could 
never  be  induced  to  leave  Bedford,  and  there  he  quietly 
stayed  through  changes  of  ministry,  Popish  plots,  and 
Monmouth  rebellions,  while  the  terror  of  a  restoration  of 
Popery  was  bringing  on  the  Revolution — careless  of  kings 
and  cabinets,  and  confident  that  Giant  Pope  had  lost  his 
power  for  harm,  and  thenceforward  could  only  bite  his 
nails  at  the  passing  pilgrims.  Once  only,  after  the  failure 
of  the  Exclusion  Bill,  he  seems  to  have  feared  that  violent 
measures  might  again  be  tried  against  him.  It  is  even 
said  that  he  was  threatened  with  arrest,  and  it  was  on  this 
occasion  that  he  made  over  his  property  to  his  wife.  The 
policy  of  James  II.,  however,  transparently  treacherous 
though  it  was,  for  the  time  gave  security  to  the  Noncon- 
formist congregations ;  and  in  the  years  which  immediately 
preceded  the  final  expulsion  of  the  Stuarts,  liberty  of  con- 
science was  under  fewer  restrictions  than  it  had  been  in 
the  most  rigorous  days  of  the  Reformation,  or  under  the 
Long  Parliament  itself.  Thus  the  anxiety  passed  away, 
and  Bunyan  was  left  undisturbed  to  finish  his  earthly 
work. 

He  was  happy  in  his  family.  His  blind  child,  for 
whom  he  had  been  so  touchingly  anxious,  had  died  while 
he  was  in  prison.  His  other  children  lived  and  did  well ; 
and  his  brave  companion,  who  had  spoken  so  stoutly  for 
him  to  the  judges,  continued  at  his  side.  His  health,  it 
was  said,  had  suffered  from  his  confinement ;  but  the  only 
serious  illness  which  we  hear  of  was  an  attack  of  **  sweat- 
ing sickness,"  which  came  upon  him  in  1687,  and  from 
which  he  never  thoroughly  recovered.  He  was  then  fifty- 
nine,  and  in  the  next  year  he  died. 

His  end  was  characteristic.  It  was  brought  on  by  ex- 
posure when  he  was  engaged  in  an  act  of  charity.  A 
M     8*  13 


112  BUNYAN.  [chap. 

quarrel  had  broken  out  in  a  family  at  Reading  with  which 
Bunyan  had  some  acquaintance.  A  father  had  taken  of- 
fence at  his  son,  and  threatened  to  disinherit  him.  Bun- 
yan undertook  a  journey  on  horseback  from  Bedford  to 
Reading  in  the  hope  of  reconciling  them.  He  succeeded, 
but  at  the  cost  of  his  life.  Returning  by  London,  he  was 
overtaken  on  the  road  by  a  storm  of  rain,  and  was  wetted 
through  before  he  could  find  shelter.  The  chill,  falling 
on  a  constitution  already  weakened  by  illness,  brought  on 
fever.  He  was  able  to  reach  the  house  of  Mr.  Strudwick, 
one  his  London  friends ;  but  he  never  left  his  bed  after- 
wards. In  ten  days  he  was  dead.  The  exact  date  is  un- 
certain. It  was  towards  the  end  of  August,  1688,  between 
two  and  three  months  before  the  landing  of  King  Wil- 
liam. He  was  buried  in  Mr.  Strudwick's  vault,  in  the  Dis- 
senters' burying-ground  at  Bunhill  Fields.  His  last  words 
were,  "  Take  me,  for  I  come  to  Thee." 

So  ended,  at  the  age  of  sixty,  a  man  who,  if  his  impor- 
tance may  be  measured  by  the  influence  which  he  has  ex- 
erted over  succeeding  generations,  must  be  counted  among 
the  most  extraordinary  persons  whom  England  has  pro- 
duced. It  has  been  the  fashion  to  dwell  on  the  disad- 
vantages of  his  education,  and  to  regret  the  carelessness 
of  nature  which  brought  into  existence  a  man  of  genius 
in  a  tinker's  hut  at  Elstow.  Nature  is  less  partial  than 
she  appears,  and  all  situations  in  life  have  their  compensa- 
tions along  with  them. 

Circumstances,  I  should  say,  qualified  Bunyan  perfectly 
well  for  the  work  which  he  had  to  do.  If  he  had  gone 
to  school,  as  he  said,  with  Aristotle  and  Plato ;  if  he  had 
been  broken  in  at  a  university  and  been  turned  into  a 
bishop ;  if  he  had  been  in  any  one  of  the  learned  profes- 
sions, he  might  easily  have  lost,  or  might  have  never  known, 


x]  LAST  DAYS  AND  DEATH.  178 

the  secret  of  his  powers.  He  was  born  to  be  the  Poet- 
apostle  of  the  English  middle  classes,  imperfectly  educated 
like  himself;  and,  being  one  of  themselves,  he  had  the 
key  of  their  thoughts  and  feelings  in  his  own  heart.  Like 
nine  out  of  ten  of  his  countrymen,  he  came  into  the  world 
with  no  fortune  but  his  industry.  He  had  to  work  with 
his  hands  for  his  bread,  and  to  advance  by  the  side  of 
his  neighbours  along  the  road  of  common  business.  His 
knowledge  was  scanty,  though  of  rare  quality.  He  knew 
his  Bible  probably  by  heart.  He  had  studied  history  in 
Foxe's  Martyrs,  but  nowhere  else  that  we  can  trace.  The 
rest  of  his  mental  furniture  was  gathered  at  first  hand 
from  his  conscience,  his  life,  and  his  occupations.  Thus, 
every  idea  which  he  received  falling  into  a  soil  naturally 
fertile,  sprouted  up  fresh,  vigorous,  and  original.  He  con- 
fessed to  have  felt  (as  a  man  of  his  powers  could  hardly' 
have  failed  to  feel)  continued  doubts  about  the  Bible 
and  the  reality  of  the  Divine  government.  It  has  been 
well  said  that  when  we  look  into  the  world  to  find  the 
image  of  God,  it  is  as  if  we  were  to  stand  before  a  look- 
ing-glass, expecting  to  see  ourselves  reflected  there,  and  to 
see  nothing.  Education  scarcely  improves  our  perception 
in  this  respect ;  and  wider  information,  wider  acquaintance 
with  the  thoughts  of  other  men  in  other  ages  and  coun- 
tries, might  as  easily  have  increased  his  difficulties  as  have 
assisted  him  in  overcoming  them.  He  was  not  a  man 
who  could  have  contented  himself  with  compromises  and 
half-convictions.  No  force  could  have  subdued  him  into 
a  decent  Anglican  divine — a  "  Mr.  Two  Tongues,  parson 
of  the  parish."  He  was  passionate  and  thorough-going. 
The  authority  of  conscience  presented  itself  to  him  only 
in  the  shape  of  religious  obligation.  Religion  once  shaken 
into  a  *'  perhaps,"  would  have  had  no  existence  to  him ; 


174  BUNYAN.  [chat. 

and  it  is  easy  to  conceive  a  university-bred  Bunyan,  an 
intellectual  meteor,  flaring  uselessly  across  the  sky  and 
disappearing  in  smoke  and  nothingness. 

Powerful  temperaments  are  necessarily  intense.  Bun- 
yan, born  a  tinker,  had  heard  right  and  wrong  preached  to 
him  in  the  name  of  the  Christian  creed.  He  concluded 
after  a  struggle  that  Christianity  was  true,  and  on  that 
conviction  he  built  himself  up  into  what  he  was.  It  might 
have  been  the  same,  perhaps,  with  Burns  had  he  been  born 
a  century  before.  Given  Christianity  as  an  unquestiona- 
bly, true  account  of  the  situation  and  future  prospects  of 
man,  the  feature  of  it  most  appalling  to  the  imagination 
is  that  hell-fire  —  a  torment  exceeding  the  most  horrible 
which  fancy  can  conceive,  and  extending  into  eternity — 
awaits  the  enormous  majority  of  the  human  race.  The 
dreadful  probability  seized  hold  on  the  young  Bunyan's 
mind.  He  shuddered  at  it  when  awake.  In  the  visions 
of  the  night  it  came  before  him  in  the  tremendous  details 
of  the  dreadful  reality.  It  became  the  governing  thought 
in  his  nature. 

Such  a  belief,  if  it  does  not  drive  a  man  to  madness, 
will  at  least  cure  him  of  trifling.  It  will  clear  his  mind 
of  false  sentiment,  take  the  nonsense  out  of  him,  and  en- 
able him  to  resist  vulgar  temptation  as  nothing  else  will. 
The  danger  is  that  the  mind  may  not  bear  the  strain,  that 
the  belief  itself  may  crack  and  leave  nothing.  Bunyan 
was  hardly  tried,  but  in  him  the  belief  did  not  crack.  It 
spread  over  his  character.  It  filled  him  first  with  terror; 
then  with  a  loathing  of  sin,  which  entailed  so  awful  a  pen- 
alty ;  then,  as  his  personal  fears  were  allayed  by  the  rec- 
ognition of  Christ,  it  turned  to  tenderness  and  pity. 

There  was  no  fanaticism  in  Bunyan ;  nothing  harsh  or 
savage.      His  natural  humour  perhaps  saved  him.      His 


X.]  LAST  DAYS  AND  DEATH.  176 

few  recorded  sayings  all  refer  to  the  one  central  question ; 
but  healthy  seriousness  often  best  expresses  itself  in  play- 
ful quaintness.  He  was  once  going  somewhere  disguised 
as  a  waggoner.  He  was  overtaken  by  a  constable  who  had 
a  warrant  to  arrest  him.  The  constable  asked  him  if  he 
knew  that  devil  of  a  fellow  Bunyan.  **  Know  him !"  Bun- 
yan  said.  "  You  might  call  him  a  devil  if  you  knew  him 
as  well  as  I  once  did." 

A  Cambridge  student  was  trying  to  show  him  what  a 
divine  thing  reason  was — "  reason,  the  chief  glory  of  man, 
which  distinguished  him  from  a  beast,"  &c.,  &c. 

Bunyan  growled  out:  "Sin  distinguishes  man  from 
beast.     Is  sin  divine  ?" 

He  was  extremely  tolerant  in  his  terms  of  Church  mem- 
bership. He  offended  the  stricter  part  of  his  congregation 
by  refusing  even  to  make  infant  baptism  a  condition  of 
exclusion.  The  only  persons  with  whom  he  declined  to 
communicate  were  those  whose  lives  were  openly  immoral. 
His  chief  objection  to  the  Church  of  England  was  the  ad- 
mission of  the  ungodly  to  the  Sacraments.  He  hated 
party  titles  and  quarrels  upon  trifles.  He  desired  himself 
to  be  called  a  Christian  or  a  Believer,  or  "  any  name  which 
was  approved  by  the  Holy  Ghost."  Divisions,  he  said, 
were  to  Churches  like  wars  to  countries.  Those  who  talk- 
ed most  about  religion  cared  least  for  it ;  and  controversies 
about  doubtful  things,  and  things  of  little  moment,  ate  up 
all  zeal  for  things  which  were  practicable  and  indisputable. 

"  In  countenance,"  wrote  a  friend,  "  he  appeared  to  be 
of  a  stem  and  rough  temper,  but  in  his  conversation  mild 
and  affable ;  not  given  to  loquacity  or  to  much  discourse 
in  company  unless  some  urgent  occasion  required  it;  ob- 
serving never  to  boast  of  himself  or  his  parts,  but  rather 
to  seem  low  in  his  own  eyes,  and  submit  himself  to  the 


116  BUN  Y  AN.  [chap. 

judgment  of  others ;  abhorring  lying  and  swearing ;  being 
just,  in  all  that  lay  in  his  power,  to  his  word ;  not  seeming 
to  revenge  injuries;  loving  to  reconcile  differences  and 
make  friendships  with  all.  He  had  a  sharp,  quick  eye, 
with  an  excellent  discerning  of  persons,  being  of  good 
judgment  and  quick  wit."  "  He  was  tall  of  stature,  strong- 
boned,  though  not  corpulent,  somewhat  of  a  ruddy  face, 
with  sparkling  eyes,  wearing  his  hair  on  his  upper  lip ;  his 
hair  reddish,  but  in  his  later  days  time  had  sprinkled  it 
with  grey ;  his  nose  well  set,  but  not  declining  or  bending ; 
his  mouth  moderate  large,  his  forehead  something  high, 
and  his  habit  always  plain  and  modest." 

He  was  himself  indifferent  to  advancement,  and  he  did 
not  seek  it  for  his  family.  A  London  merchant  offered 
to  take  his  son  into  his  house.  *'  God,"  he  said,  "  did  not 
send  me  to  advance  my  family,  but  to  preach  the  Gospel." 
He  had  no  vanity — an  exemption  extremely  rare  in  those 
who  are  personally  much  before  the  public.  The  personal 
popularity  was  in  fact  the  part  of  his  situation  which  he 
least  liked.  When  he  was  to  preach  in  London,  "  if  there 
was  but  one  day's  notice  the  meeting-house  was  crowded 
to  overflowing."  Twelve  hundred  people  would  be  found 
collected  before  seven  o'clock  on  a  dark  winter's  morning 
to  hear  a  lecture  from  him.  In  Zoar  Street,  Southwark, 
his  church  was  sometimes  so  crowded  that  he  had  to  be 
lifted  to  the  pulpit  stairs  over  the  congregation's  heads. 
It  pleased  him,  but  he  was  on  the  watch  against  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  himself  admired.  A  friend  complimented 
him  once,  after  service,  on  "  the  sweet  sermon  "  which  he 
had  delivered.  "  You  need  not  remind  me  of  that,"  he 
said.  "The  devil  told  me  of  it  before  I  was  out  of  the 
pulpit." 

"Conviction  of  sin" has  become  a  conventional  phrase, 


T.]  LAST  DAYS  AND  DEATH.  Ill 

shallow  and  ineffective  even  in  those  who  use  it  most  sin- 
cerely. Yet  moral  evil  is  still  the  cause  of  nine-tenths  of 
the  misery  in  the  world,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  measure  the 
value  of  a  man  who  could  prolong  the  conscious  sense  of 
the  deadly  nature  of  it,  even  under  the  forms  of  a  decom- 
posing theology.  Times  are  changing.  The  intellectual 
cuiTcnt  is  bearing  us  we  know  not  where,  and  the  course 
of  the  stream  is  in  a  direction  which  leads  us  far  from  the 
conclusions  in  which  Bunyan  and  the  Puritans  established 
themselves;  but  the  truths  which  are  most  essential  for 
us  to  know  cannot  be  discerned  by  speculative  arguments. 
Chemistry  cannot  tell  us  why  some  food  is  wholesome 
and  other  food  is  poisonous.  That  food  is  best  for  us 
which  best  nourishes  the  body  into  health  and  strength ; 
and  a  belief  in  a  Supernatural  Power  which  has  given  us 
a  law  to  live  by,  and  to  which  we  are  responsible  for  our 
conduct,  has  alone,  of  all  the  influences  known  to  us,  suc- 
ceeded in  ennobling  and  elevating  the  character  of  man. 
The  particular  theories  which  men  have  formed  about 
it  have  often  been  wild  and  extravagant.  Imagination, 
agitated  by  fear  or  stimulated  by  pious  enthusiasm,  has 
peopled  heaven  with  demigods  and  saints — creations  of 
fancy,  human  forms  projected  upon  a  mist  and  magnified 
into  celestial  images.  How  much  is  true  of  all  that  men 
have  believed  in  past  times  and  have  now  ceased  to  believe, 
how  much  has  been  a  too  eager  dream,  no  one  now  can 
tell.  It  may  be  that  other  foundations  may  be  laid  here- 
after for  human  conduct  on  which  an  edifice  can  be  raised 
no  less  fair  and  beautiful;  but  no  signs  of  it  are  as  yet 
apparent.  • 

So  far  as  we  yet  know,  morality  rests  upon  a  sense 
of  obligation;  and  obligation  has  no  meaning  except  aa 
implying   a  Divine   command,  without   which  it   would 


178  BUNT  AN.  [ctap.x, 

cease  to  be.  Until  "  duty  "  can  be  presented  to  ns  in  a 
shape  which  will  compel  our  recognition  of  it  with  equal 
or  superior  force,  the  passing  away  of  "  the  conviction  of 
sin "  can  operate  only  to  obscure  our  aspirations  after  a 
high  ideal  of  life  and  character.  The  scientific  theory 
may  be  correct,  and  it  is  possible  that  we  may  be  standing 
on  the  verge  of  the  most  momentous  intellectual  revolu- 
tion which  has  been  experienced  in  the  history  of  our  race. 
It  may  be  so,  and  also  it  may  not  be  so.  It  may  be  that 
the  most  important  factors  in  the  scientific  equation  are 
beyond  the  reach  of  human  intellect.  However  it  be,  the 
meat  which  gives  strength  to  the  man  is  poison  to  the 
child;  and  as  yet  we  are  still  children,  and  are  likely  to 
remain  children.  "Every  relief  from  outward  restraint," 
says  one  who  was  not  given  to  superstition, "  if  it  be  not 
attended  with  increased  power  of  self-command,  is  simply 
fatal."  Men  of  intelligence,  therefore,  to  whom  life  is  not 
a  theory  but  a  stem  fact,  conditioned  round  with  endless 
possibilities  of  wrong  and  suffering,  though  they  may 
never  again  adopt  the  letter  of  Bunyan's  creed,  will  con- 

(tinue  to  see  in  conscience  an  authority  for  which  culture 
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other  responsibility  is  not  a  fiction  but  a  truth ;  and,  so 
long  as  this  conviction  lasts,  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  will 
still  be  dear  to  all  men  of  all  creeds  who  share  in  it,  even 
though  it  pleases  the  "elect"  modem  philosophers  to 
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